


Pale MoonLight

by Krustybunny



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, F/M, Gen, Multi, not a stand alone fic, remember I can't write good, sequel fic, werewolf!killian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krustybunny/pseuds/Krustybunny
Summary: It's been a few months since Killian and Emma found themselves on his back porch. Things aren't moving as Emma would like, but nothing really has since that night in Central Park. Mary Margaret is finding old ghosts haunting her new life, Belle is separated from everyone she loves, and two dark men are contending for a "new life".





	1. Holding Breath Over Pre-Conceived Ideas

A bond had most definitely been made; secured deep inside the both of them, but Killian was staunch in keeping the truth of its translucency a tightly held secret. Better all-around that everyone believed Emma was his and he was hers; _especially_ Emma. It wasn't an outright lie so much as a fogging of perception; the bond was no less real due to its fragility, but Killian couldn't ( _wouldn't_ ) lose her to some wanker that would press his/her suit. Killian pressing his already laid claim on Emma to solidify the damned thing wasn't an option either. Not after Walsh. Not after the creature Killian had become to make her safe. His pride wouldn't have anything less than Emma choosing him free and clear, without some ancient magic twisting her mind. But to be perfectly blunt –if at least with himself– without total consummation or a formal binding ceremony, the bond would remain as weak as when he found her managing her own escape all those months ago. If he ignored his pride, Killian loved her and couldn't fathom choosing either of his options so soon after Emma's turmoil.

The first few nights after he had returned to her were etched in horrific memory, when she had attempted to sleep within the same bed as him and triggered her nightmares in violent ways.

(His own nightmares came to life the nights she spent away from him.)

As it was, it was fortuitous that Killian came to manhood in a different era that boasted more chaste ideas of courtship; he could keep the bond thriving in its infantile state until she was ready, without having his own desires choke him.

As it was, his efforts to be what Emma needed were met with a few obstacles outside his own base nature… _her_ nature, to be exact.

As it was, they had been "dating" for months and matters were becoming… difficult and pressing.

Killian didn't date, per se. In his youth as a human, the rules and rituals were a different species altogether than the modern editions, and couldn't be used as anything other than defensive maneuvers to negating his libido. In his youth as a werewolf, he avoided attachments first from grief, then from obligation to a memory. After his self-loathing ebbed and his heart felt more numb than pained, well it seemed pointless to try to forge a connection that lasted longer than a night given his line of work. Cultural standards changed very little as time wore on, and it seemed the space of an ocean didn't alter them either. However, he wasn't ignorant of the sexual liberation the human race began back during the 1970's, nor was he oblivious to the steady pulse of the liberation of women from the puritanical foundations most civilized society sat on. He had most certainly taken advantage of women openly enjoying sex in all its formats… it had been such liberties that had introduced Killian to his Rubles. He was also aware of the current standard of a "three-date" rule; another advantage he had taken up on when he had more than a passing thought to a particular female. What he hadn't counted on was Emma being psychologically ready for such intimacies even six months' postmortem of Walsh Singe. Which she wasn't, not truly. But his beautiful Swan was a stubborn creature who believed that if she pretended to be fine long enough, it would simply happen all on its own. A tactic Killian himself had employed more than his fair share of times. He knew that however eager her body tried to be, her mind and heart were not in concurrence. His counter measure as to slow burn the courtship, to allow her mind to accept him and others once again. Words before glances. Glances before touches. He'd be Wesley-the-bloody-farmboy posing as her very own Mr. Knightley until she wasn't blacking out on anyone. Even if it took him the rest of her days to do so.

Emma wasn't his only obstacle; simply for picking her up from Brookside Manor hadn't become any easier as time wore on either. Not that such reception wasn't to be expected, David was notorious for being a laid back and easygoing man –unless he or his wolf felt its territory was encroached upon. Then he became this thing that was as stubborn as a creature born a love child between a jackass and bull; grunting and glaring at the person imposing on his general good nature. To be fair, Killian hadn't actually seen the man fight in such circumstances, David's dominance being high enough that most wolves just fell in line. But there were stories from the early days after David's Change; a former boxing champ on the rise turned hired muscle for a witch, running her liquor routes during days of prohibition as part of a truce between the woman and the local Alpha. Then there were a handful of stories from his early days at Brookside under Alpha Leopold Blanchard. Fighting in either case was to be expected –simple matters of illegal work and basic tussles of settling into a new pack. What _hadn't_ been expected from such a young wolf was the quick severity that these fights not only began, but ended. Nor was the rumor that a fair amount of fights were handled man to wolf –David retaining his human-skin while his opponent shifted for more strength and power– and David repeatedly emerged the victor. With Emma set up as (more or less) an impromptu adoption into David's pack and family, Killian had fully braced himself for the growling and posturing and perhaps even a scuffle or two.

Angry father figures were creatures he was _well_ acquainted with.

While David certainly created a fair blockade, the problem still wasn't David directly. Killian's true problem lay in resisting and rejecting Emma's advances when their outings gave opportunity for getting closer. Which, because of Emma's persistence, was every outing. A woman can only be told "no" so many times before she succumbed to the notion that she was undesirable, and Emma already had more than enough fuel of her own to give light to that ridiculous idea. It was a balancing act Philippe Petit would be impressed with. He wanted her, _gods_ how he wanted her; the carpal tunnel threatening his right hand every few days was proof. (Killian was positive that without his supernatural abilities for rapid healing, the internal workings of his bollocks would have been cummed out of his cock three times over by now.) He simply couldn't rectify taking that step with Emma, knowing it would solidify their bond into something irreversible. She had been forced into this life, nearly forced into a bond that would have been devoid of love for the sake of keeping her quiet. Killian wouldn't be the one to force her into anything more until she could look at him without the shadows of dank rooms hiding her green eyes and she could lay an entire night in his arms without a panic attack clouding her mind from him.

The problem lay in keeping her happy and content enough so his interactions with David remained limited to glares and grunts of general disapproval instead of golden eyes promising a swift dismemberment.

As it was, an outing with Emma was usually precluded with a mental workup done in his truck so a sit down with David – who staunchly grumbled his way through the conversations – went smoothly.

All necessary trials to help keep the carnal urges locked away for another night.

* * *

Killian being Killian, there were the traditional dates of dinners and movies and whatnot. He used the word "wooing" more than once as explanation, even when Emma reminded him that she was a sure thing, so she simply stopped resisting and let him "woo" away when he kept insisting on doing it. She liked dressing up for reasons other than honey trapping a bail jumper anyway. But it wasn't uncommon for Killian to take his truck out onto some barely cleared dirt road for their dates, follow it to some random clearing in the woods for a picnic or an activity of some sort. Not the kind of activities Emma was _more than_ willing (she mentally shouted in Killian's general direction) to take part in mind you, but other things that would likely both thrill and horrify Mary Margaret. There were trips where he would take her to a wide-open field, a large denim blanket spread and a telescope set up; stargazing was something he was hell bent on teaching her, regardless of the fact that all she saw when she looked up was bright round things stuck in the big black thing. ( _Timon had it right; Neil deGrasse Tyson could suck it._ ) More of his wooing, but less formal. There were excursions where Killian would teach her how to track outdoors, instructing when to listen to the clues left behind and when to ignore them. He even shifted to wolf a handful of times in extreme games of hide and seek where she was always the one hiding. That game scared her the first couple rounds –memories and all such things, but Zuul was always there shuffling forward, belly to the ground, to nestle into her when her panic tried to rise up. He'd roll over and be playful, or he's slowly inch up on her until he was on top of her (usually occupying her entire lap and legs), breathing deeply and loudly, guiding her back to calm spaces. Emma insisted they keep playing the game though; she trusted him, wolf and man. It wasn't long until her brain took her to the idea that the better she got at hiding or evading Killian, the better she would be with other wolves. All the same, it was those outings to some empty clearing that Emma enjoyed the most. Not for the activities –or lack of, but for the end of it. When they were growing quiet and tired, stretched out on the blanket or curled around each other in the back of the truck. He was always warm with a comforting hand moving up and down her arms or back. Sometimes on her better days he would manage a hand in her hair gently petting her scalp. He accused her of being too much like a cat with her purring once; Emma meowed and he laughed open and free. Emma liked that sound. The world –and everything that made her jump or tense throughout the day– faded to his smell and his touch. And for those few moments, she was nothing. Not a girlfriend, not a friend. Not a new responsibility and not a charity case.

Not a victim.

She just _was_.

And with all the close or exciting moments, they still had to get out the front door to get to them. So it wasn't uncommon either for Killian to remain in said truck, staring at nothing from what Emma could tell, just prior to picking her up. He would sit there for roughly fifteen minutes before he'd finally stride to the front door for his escort to David's study. Then it was another twenty minutes of posturing and small talk between the males… or that's what Mary Margaret confessed it was. Emma knew these folks were old fashioned, but this was ridiculous given how long it had been happening.

_:I swear one of these dates, I'm just going to crash the man cave._

_**:Be thankful it's David. It could be a lot worse.** _

_:How Ruby? How could this "get daddy's permission" get any worse?_

_**:Have you thought even once what Graham would have been like if things developed while you were still a New Yorker?** _

_:Graham might have gotten touchy, but that's because of the whole turf thing._

_**:Try again Emma. He was threatening Killian before you two had been formally introduced.** _

_:That's because Killian is a flirt and Graham thought he had a crush on me._

_**:Or it was because Graham loves you and he knew how someone like Killian could affect you. Good or bad.** _

_:Overbearing brother type is still easier to deal with than this._

_**:It would have gone way past 'overbearing brother type' and you know it. Besides, all this? This is just the first step. After David calms down –if he calms down– Killian still has Graham to deal with. Then me. Then Granny.** _

_:Are you fucking joking?_

_**:Not remotely. You may belong to that pack, but the wolves that introduce you to the life are always responsible for you. Which would be the three of us you left behind.** _

_:Technically,_ he _was the one to introduce me. Then Killian. And since Killian ate_ him _…_

_**:Nice try. Look, I get it. You see it like its old world "women are property" deal. But it's more like a whole big family stepping in and making sure you're ok, which after everything, you have to give us. We need to heal too you know.** _

_:I get it… I just didn't think this would be like being in the mob._

_**:You wouldn't even begin to know what mob life is like Lemur.** _

_:And you would?_

_**:Granny and I are Russians in New York… what do you think?** _

_:Oh my god…_

_**:For the FBI's record, I can confirm nor deny anything.** _

_:Lol and yet you openly admit the wolf thing?_

_**:Mob life vs. Werewolves. Which would you believe?** _

_:Fine._

_**: I bet you two haven't slept together yet have you?** _

_:RUBY!_

_**:Just saying… might be why you're so wound up. But I get it, traumatic event and all. You hold out as long as you like.** _

_:Except I'm not the one holding out._

_**:Oh? Well isn't that interesting…** _

_:I hate it when you say that._

_**:I love it when you give me reason to. Tell me what this late night date ends up being.** _

_:Yeah. Love you._

_**:Love you.** _

Emma slipped her phone back in her pocket. Bitching to Ruby had become a bit of her own ritual prior to finally wandering down the stairs to meet Killian. It helped ease the anxiety… and well… tension _had_ to give _somewhere_ and verbally venting off a bit of steam to her friend was better than a tactile solo mission. Emma had a very vivid memory of Killian's reaction the one time she handled that issue like a normal person; him scenting the air repeatedly wearing dilated white eyes. It was a memory that helped now and then. What wasn't helping was that tonight's outing was a scheduled overnighter; the anticipation had Emma's skin humming for what little extra contact she could wrangle from him. Even if Emma's ego was getting bruised waiting for him to get on with things, in spite of Killian's very obvious inclination otherwise.

She was half-ready to beg tonight and she hadn't even said "hi" to him yet.

* * *

It could have been any number of things really, but the longer Emma Swan stayed in her family home, the more Mary Margaret lingered in her lost daughter's nursery. Easy answers pointed at the fact of both the girls bared the same name; it wasn't as if Emma was something uncommon to name a little girl. They also pointed to the resemblance Emma Swan had to Mary Margaret herself, one that hadn't been so easy to see under the wrinkled layers of age, though now it was slightly alarming as Mary Margaret relearned her own young face. The easy answers pointed out that Emma held David's coloring, and bore Ruth's shrewd skills of reading people.

_Christ, she was even around the proper age._

But it was all circumstantial flights of fancy. Mary Margaret held onto hope for so long that her little girl was safe somewhere, loved and happy. Emma being around was forcing Mary Margaret to deal with actual outcomes to her family's tragedy, when all she wanted to do was maintain reality as it was. On long nights when she couldn't sleep, Mary Margaret blamed her wolf; wolves don't dwell on the past for very long and it wanted to move on. There could be tests done… DNA would certainly fix this whole puzzle, but to what end? Emma Swan had to grow up alone, remained alone, until Ruby and Granny had decided to keep her. Not the life Mary Margaret wanted for her first born, how could she cope with the knowledge of the tests returning back positive? And Emma, she was thrown into her new reality; the new pressure of family –this kind of family– could break all the progress she had already made towards healing the damage recently done. Lord knows what it would do to Leo to find out he wasn't only a brother, but a _little_ brother.

_Oh God Leo…_

But the worst of it wouldn't even be the stress and in-fighting over who would have legal rights over Emma or the estate. It wouldn't be the struggle to reshape their families around the new information; it wouldn't even be trying to connect with each other as family. It was if the tests proved negative… if a legacy could continue without the tarnish of one psychotic Fusion... if everyone got their hopes up… if a lost little girl finally thought she found her family. If everything they thought they could ever have…

Wasn't even there to start with. It would destroy them all.

The other choice was to remain ignorant, to protect everyone from the fallout of knowing. But the idea had struck her heart so hard that some days Mary Margaret couldn't breathe with _not_ knowing. So Mary Margaret took to hiding away in the charred remains of her daughter's bedroom; desperately trying to connect with the memory of what _was_ instead of hoping for what could be. It had taken so much just to live on after; Mary Margaret couldn't bring herself to risk all they had for what she lost. She clung to old stuffed toys, or sheets and blankets that carried fragments of scent. Something appreciated so much more now that she could actually detect the finer points of what had been her baby girl. Eventually, Snow planned on smacking her husband for not telling her the scent their daughter had been born with. Most people smelt of what their daily life took them through, something common to their lifestyle. But the lost child of Brookside had something different.

_Of course she did…_

Her little girl, once upon a time, had smelled like the hot of summer. Of warmth and light. It was almost gone under the taint of burnt synthetic fibers; Mary Margaret had broken down and wept the first time her new senses had picked it up, spending the next two weeks driving her nose into everything in the room just to find it again. It was a bit masochistic, etching the scent of her first born into her mind at this point of it all. Ingraining it into herself to the result of scenting it all over the manor. But if she had the choice of having this little remnant over nothing at all, Mary Margaret would rather smell ghosts around every corner.

* * *

Killian wasn't necessarily against Earl Grey tea, it simply felt as if they both should have been drinking something much stronger than the liquid chosen. Brandy or Bourbon if they were stick to the aesthetic adopted; rum and scotch if they were stick to their personal preferences. And it wasn't as if either of them could achieve even a moderate hum in their blood –let alone get drunk. It had been the second date when David showed himself to be vehemently against the idea of letting Emma out the front doors if a drop of alcohol was present. (Scarlet had been spiking the contents of the fridge again.) Killian –in lieu of amber courage– would have resorted to a simple cup of coffee, something bracing in its bitter flavor; not the soothing nature of… tea. He had to fight against the calm that the warm liquid gave to better withstand the barrage of need he would feel once Emma arrived. In his agitation to remain alert, poor David was triggered into his own sense of unease resulting in further pouring of tea to counteract the emotion in both of them.

It was a vicious cycle. Rum would never do this to him.

Killian wasn't even left with the option to explain his heightened senses without risking a temporary ban from the manor. He could control himself; he could control his wolf. He had been doing well these last months, keeping his promise to David of courting Emma and giving her a solid relationship to rely on. He pressed her for nothing other than the occasional snogging on the couch. ( _Or counter… table… wall… tree…_ ) But his resolve wasn't fairing so well today. Be it the sheer amount of time since he had last lain with a woman (more than a year is long for any creature), or the fact that his instincts were driving him to make final claim to the woman he had fallen so hard for. It certainly wasn't helped by the fragile connection he did have to Emma; knowing the naughty things that cycled through her head from time to time made his resistance down right painful.

"I know these sit downs bore you Killian, but you could at least keep your head in this room when I'm talking to you?" David's tone –thankfully– was of only annoyance.

Properly so, Killian grinned sheepishly. "Sorry mate. Emma is on her way down; you remember how it was when your connection was first established…"

David switched from being annoyed to looking like he might vomit. "Not that I want any of those details, thank you."

Killian sighed. "For the record Alpha, Swan and I haven't crossed that particular bridge. Despite her attempts for an all-out sprint across it. Repeatedly."

David's eyebrow cocked high, with a flash of gold burning in his eyes. "You said you two bonded Killian Jones. While I appreciate the courtship, I cannot allow Emma to remain unmated given the situation."

It was a slip, Killian hadn't intended to whine the truth. A lesser wolf just wasn't prone to maintaining deceptions among trusted betters. Killian was nothing if not silver tongued however. "We are. I assure you. But we've… _I've_ abstained since then."

_Not an outright lie, not the entire truth…_

David leaned forward. "Oh? Ok… maybe a few details… didn't see you as one to hold back on…" His hands waved circles through the air. "… _that_."

Killian frowned. "Normally no. She still has nightmares, still can't eat chicken without needing a few moments to come back to reality. I pretend sleep when she leaves the bed to sleep on the couch –though I'm happy to report that has begun to happen less and less. What kind of man or wolf would I be to push for something she isn't ready to give? Certainly wouldn't be any kind of proper mate to her, and given her track record with the males I'm aware of, I refuse to have any comparisons between me and them."

David nodded. "I see what you mean, I do. And don't take this as me allowing… _that_ … to happen. But the rules of companionship have dramatically altered since either one of us were human. _That_ activity happens fairly early on these days. If your goal is to give her something stable, why not let her have what she would see as normal?"

Killian leered a moment, running his tongue along his bottom lip. "It's called sex Dave."

The word worked and David flinched. "Seriously Killian. I'm trying to help here."

Killian breathed a chuckle. "I know, my apologies; Gods know I can't resist such low hanging fruit. She may want to, but as I've learned, Emma has a propensity to steamroll over the problems and issues at hand without regard to the outcome. And a large part of her willingness could be attributed to the connection and her feeling my reactions to her. Regardless, until I can hold her through the night without her having an issue, sexual intimacy –beyond what we have managed– won't help anything."

David flinched again. "And I agree. But you could let things progress until she asks for them to stop. At least then it's her choice, and she might relax a bit. One less choice for her to worry about for a while."

Killian tilted his head, "Just why _are_ you so helpful? From what I can tell, you're happier with her and I never going near that particular choice. Ever."

David sighed. "Because Emma is… it's becoming obvious she's… _fuck_ …"

Killian's eyebrows shot up. "Oh do tell mate."

David ran his hands over his face. "Let's just say… that the tension between you and Emma is getting harder to deal with for the rest of us. I assumed it was just a high frequency, not total lack of. Either way, some of my wolves have taken notice of the tension between you two in a way that could only end badly for everyone. Something needs to give. And soon."

Killian paused. "Is _that_ why you've been giving me tea these last few months? To calm my libido?"

David looked contrite just before he looked offended. "I like Earl Grey thank you." Killian stared as both eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "And yes."

* * *

Tonight's date had Killian escorting Emma from Brookside during the late evening. The August sun lingered in the sky like an unwelcome second cousin set up in the guestroom. Hovering and irritating and just when it seemed the bastard had gone to bed, all too soon he's back up to torment another day. The humidity that filtered through the trees had to be the cousin's oversized, longhaired dog set to chew up and drool over the furniture. For a creature like a werewolf, either houseguest was a push towards a cross attitude. Werewolves ran hotter than the average human with their increased metabolism, making summer seasons and "southern living" virtually impossible. In general, Killian Jones during this time of year wasn't in the best of moods. His only saving grace in tolerating the ventures out of his home –a place of blessed central-air– was the excuse that later nights with Emma usually meant her staying the night with him. It was a sweet torture as nothing final would take place as he'd like, but every moment was justified when she smiled or found comfort at his side. Selfishly, he viewed every chance to bring her through a break down –as horrible as they was to endure– as proving his fidelity to her… to _them_. Selfishly he thrilled at every chance to press a kiss to her lips as a tangible promise of his presence; to her temple, to the soft skin under her jaw… He clamped down his mind a little tighter when his thoughts drifted towards his physical needs. He didn't enjoy to, it closed off what little connection to Emma he could allow. But Emma had been terrorized and brutalized by a blight-infested piss pot; Killian rather suffer the loss of her presence inside his being than press _that_ aspect of their relationship. Until they could spend a night in the same bed (platonically) without her nightmares pressing dark circles under her eyes at the very least. A first for Killian honestly, turning down basic pleasures for the sake of rest.

With his heightened temper and her darker moments, even with Killian feeling greedy with her, Killian had been prepared and insistent during the summer to escort Emma home when the day was particularly rough. Emma's stubborn nature won out more often than not and she remained in his bed –when he couldn't convince her to her own– with him a room away. His wolf would take point from him a few times each month, laying with her like an oversized stuffed animal for her to snuggle into. He wasn't sure if he should feel slighted that she could sleep soundly with him in wolf-skin instead of with him as a man, or if he should feel luckier than Margaret Brown that she took to that part of him as if he wasn't anything abnormal. His wolf certainly preened with the knowledge that Emma trusted it, that they could still provide for their Would-Be-Mate even when her mind fought against them, that he and his wolf had abilities to get around the damage inflicted and still be able to ease her heart.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing she was fighting against. The wretched truth was the mate bond that had begun forming almost from that fateful night in the park, and was fortifying itself as it should regardless of Killian's attempts to slow it down to nearly a stop. The magic of it encouraged the need to be with each other, influencing in small ways until it was formed; only to choose then to remain a mere conduit. It was nearly a thing of its own mind now, having waited so long to be made whole or to be let go.

It was one step to take, just one.

Either direction really.

One step could even be satisfied with words alone, as many mated couples had opted to do. Though many bonds manifested in more carnal agreements as was the original way; a joining of the bodies as the minds and hearts sealed themselves together. Their bond was all but grabbing him by the bollocks at this point any time she so much as flicked her hair. But Killian stalled it as best he could. You see, it wasn't the mate bond Emma was fighting, if anything, she was trying to follow along the gilded path the bond had laid out for her. After four months of dating, Emma was following current dating trends (as David so helpfully pointed out) of progressing the relationship sexually, not fully aware of what such actions would result for herself… for them.

Emma was fighting against Killian's hesitations.

Killian couldn't fathom letting her fall into the bond unknowingly, not after Walsh the Wanker. She technically knew of the risks, it had been laid out for her. But knowing and experiencing are separate demons. If she chose this, chose him, it would be after he showed her everything they could be. The comfort, the fights, the mundane every day. He would wait and give her every chance to walk away; a concept his wolf wasn't on board with. But she needed the wide-open eyes one only got from seeing the worst of things, only then would her choice be truly hers. She may have experienced something truly horrible of her new world, but she had missed the worst of him.

So the instincts and demands of his wolf warred with the instincts and cautions of the man.

This wasn't exactly new behavior, he's sure he heard Ruby mention his contradictive nature before, but Emma uncannily brought it all to the forefront. Waiting for her to make that final call would be a taxing torture indeed, but one endured nonetheless.

Another breath as he drove them out to a clearing, and another, until he was certain that his urges weren't going to be an issue for their night.

(Emma chose then to stretch next to him with her arms high above, her breast straining against the fabric of her shirt. Killian bit his cheek enough to nearly chew through it; his wolf howled in laughing pleasure.)

* * *

Malcolm Aran was never so pleased as to see Killian Jones find himself a mate; he dare say he was more pleased than Killian himself. Games were only fun if all the players arrived to the board after all, and Malcolm was all too eager for these players to set up their pieces and join in. His game had been long in its run, players set up and lost to his table many times over at this point. The game was nearly his. Just a few more turns around the board and a handful of gambles he was sure to gain from. But patience wasn't a virtue he had ever obtained. Ironic, considering how long he has lived and how long he had been setting up and playing with his toys. No, Malcolm would grow restless rather quickly waiting for the living around him to get on with things. Little vermin crawling about the world thinking what they did was of their own choosing. Every now and then, Malcolm would forget himself and cause minor traumatic events to spur his games along. Tricky business that, as the outcome became exponentially random. The whole byplay at Brookside seventy some odd years ago nearly cost him the whole game before he could let anyone know they were playing. And being so very close to the end now, it was most difficult to rein in his compulsions to push everyone over the finish line and down at his feet.

Now, for instance, as he waited for his wayward companion to show his cowardly face. Rumpelstiltskin was playing games too, and it was a problem. They had a deal set nearly in stone an age ago, and now the Imp's meddling's had pushed Malcolm's carefully laid plans nearly to ruin. Again. Malcolm ended up burning through far too many resources to set things back to rights. Rumple delaying this meeting now was either proof of guilt, or proof of disregard to consequence; or both. High odds to both. Although Rumpelstiltskin's reasons for interfering were really of no concern, Malcolm simply wanted to see where the Imp's mind was at, where his intentions lay, and if their deal could still be kept quiet if not intact. The Imp was aware of entirely too much of Malcolm's non-Council dealings. And entirely too capable of derailing centuries of work with very little effort.

These things wouldn't put an end to Malcolm's game; they would only delay it until more players could be found. More circumstances that pushed patience to breaking.

_Diplomacy was required here, not force of power._

So Malcolm waited while the Shadows licked at his heels, upset, but not overly worried. Things would play his way; Malcolm Aran never failed.


	2. Under The Stars with Blankets and Castles

The sun eventually did leave the sky, leaving them with only the residual humidity to remind them of the season. But even the sticky air couldn’t take Emma’s mind from her favorite part of their end-of-date ritual. Stars blinked high above, a blanket softened the ground beneath them, a breeze tickled their skin, and Emma was snuggled into Killian’s side. His arm cradled her shoulders providing a solid pillow for her head while the fingers from the same limb alternated between scratching her scalp and tracing patterns somewhere on her arm. She’d never tell him that this –this calm intimacy– was the thing that helped bring her to some sort of a center in herself.

(Even if Killian had a high chance of reading her brain anyway; his ego survived well enough on its own and didn’t need the inflation from her verbal conformation.)

There was supposed to be a meteor shower at some point tonight and Killian had planned accordingly, but it was still hours until the lights would stream across the sky. So they lay next to each other, quietly breathing in the world around them. Well she was quietly breathing… Killian… well every now and then Killian’s arms and torso would tense up as he took a breath deeper than required for someone laying down. She knew he was trying to come out and say something to her, but either kept losing the words for what he had in his head or he was talking himself out of it entirely. If she had Ruby or Graham here, she’d bet ten bucks that it was both in play. (Emma was always a fan of easy money.)

It was the fifth intake of failed speaking that had her breaking ground for him. “Killian?”

The freshly taken air left him in a breathy, “Aye?”

“We’ve got some time before falling stars give us a show…” Funny enough, he tensed further under her head. “We should probably come up with something to eat up the time…” He froze. It took her a minute to figure out where his mind had taken the suggestion, and while she wouldn’t be against that particular method (she _really_ wouldn’t be), knowing how many sentient wolves were in the area curbed that appeal pretty quickly. “Could you tell me about another constellation? Or a story? _Any_ story?”

His breath left him quickly again, and if he was anything but what he was, she’d worry about oxygen deprivation. “A story Swan?”

Emma smiled; she didn’t have to see his face to know his eyebrow had gone up. “Yeah… I like listening to you tell stories.”

“Have a thing for my voice do you? What would you say has the most appeal Swan? The accent that grabbed your attention for our first meeting? Or perhaps it’s the rumbling timbre that rolls through you as you snuggle further into my side? Perhaps it’s the extensive vernacular that pleases your auditory receptors?”

Emma huffed. “Mostly it’s the long winded rambles that would burn through the next few hours without a problem.”

Killian chuckled, “So all three then?”

She lightly smacked his stomach causing him to laugh just a little harder. “Tell me why your wolf has white eyes.”

He stilled, breath catching in what was obviously a painful burst of memories. “Aye… a story then.”

“Killian–“

“It’s alright Swan. When I was young…”

“Pfft. Like what? A million years ago?”

The hand that couldn’t decide between petting her head or her arm moved inward to pinch her side. “I said when Swan, doesn’t matter how far back. Now, _when_ I was young, I had dreams of being in Her Royal Majesty’s Navy. Grew up on the docks you see, wanted nothing more than to one day captain my own ship and sail off on adventure and duty. But I was born Irish and the world only saw us as the trash of civility. Considered to be thieves before any quality of character could be ascertained. A few would break the stigma, but only a few, and those men were usually of ‘noble’ birth. Though to be fair, even the nobles were seen as thieving Irish in circles outside our little island. But I wouldn’t be deterred; I had my piercing eyes set on being a sailor.” Emma snorted which caused him to chuckle. “And I got there, a merchant sailor and sometimes a privateer. Then one night, after we made dock in Pembroke –that’s in west Wales love, I met a woman. Older than me, but with eyes wide as a maid. She wasn’t… a maid I mean. She was a married woman, but unhappily so. A common plight for women then, but then a female’s pleasure was seen no different than to be taken care of like a cherished pet. And it was the lucky few that ended up a cherished pet. She didn’t have that; she had… something else. As I said, the captain had docked us, and I was taking my shore leave in a tavern where I met her. Some bloke was forcing his attentions on her, not violently, but it would have been that way if someone didn’t stop him. So I did. Clean right hook to his jaw and the blighter was gone. She looked at me like I had done something magical. I was unaware to her marital status and she was beautiful, so I tried my charms on her. I had already proven my honorable intentions as a man; perhaps she would reward me with a shared drink or allow me to walk her home. I wouldn’t have said no to more, but the previous wanker had revealed she wasn’t a slag therefore making ‘more’ an unsiutable option. She allowed me that shared drink, and some conversation. She didn’t come from anywhere of standing… letting me know she was only a spinners wife. But she had this _spirit_ in her… my travels hadn’t taken me all that far yet, but it was farther than her lot in life would have allowed and any story I gave her was met with rapt attention. We parted ways that night, innocent in our shared time.”

He breathed for little more than a minute, Emma letting him have time with his memories.

“A few weeks passed and the crew landed at the same dock delivering cargo of some sort. I crossed paths with her in the market place. There’s a look to a freshly abused woman, even if there aren’t marks to show it. She was skittish to say anything or even look at me. But I was eager to share another tale, so I informed her I’d be at the same tavern for the night should she wish to hear it. I know what you’re thinking Swan… a sailor to shore only wants for one thing. And yes, I wanted for it, but that first conversation… I discovered I enjoyed the focus of a woman as much as what could be between her thighs. I was addicted to the high it gives, and she gave me so much of it Swan… so I waited. She didn’t show until the last hour before I had to get back to the ship. Her eyes –always so expressive were her eyes– her husband had gotten to her again. I offered her my help before she had a chance to greet me. Not sure even now what I could have done, but the words were out and I stood by them. Blasted woman began crying, and I got lost even further. I tried to hold her, console her some way, but she wouldn’t risk her husband finding out. She couldn’t even stay, but she promised that if I made port again, she would find a way to come to the tavern. She liked the stories you see, they gave her an escape from her situation at home. I agreed so long as she managed it without risk to herself. She promised… I wish I had been as able to read lies then, but I don’t know if I would have listened. I liked playing the hero for her, however little I was doing.”

“You hadn’t figured out how to read lies yet?”

He sighed next to Emma, shifting his hand again to play with strands of her hair. “I wasn’t yet a werewolf. I was human and a young male. As confused as any lad when faced with a damsel in distress.”

Emma angled her head to look at him as best she could. “How old?”

“Four and twenty. A man by any standards back then, but I knew nothing of the world I lived in other than life at sea and the brief glimpses of other cultures whilst in port.”

“What was her name?”

Emma felt him swallow down through his chest. “Milah.”

His voice was low and thick and suddenly Emma wasn’t so eager to learn this story. “Its ok Killian, you don’t have to tell me anything else–“

He squeezed her with his arm. “No Emma. I picked this tale, it’s one you should know from me and not from the stories others have compiled since then.”

“That bad?”

He nodded. “I sent word however I could over the next six months whenever we landed on that dock, or when we had extended leave and I could make my way there for a night or two. We stayed in full view of the townsfolk, scandalous as it was for a married woman to be seen fraternizing with an unwed man, and a sailor no less. But we did it so none could accuse her of anything worse. I worried at first that so many eyes would then eventually speak to her husband, but I learned quickly that the man wasn’t well thought of in that town. Notorious for taking out his initial anger on messengers of bad news and such. Try as we did to keep things platonic, love crept its way into our hearts. My captain thought I was a daft git for it, and he was right. There was a skirmish out at sea that took my captain’s life, and being his lieutenant, I was given my dream of captaining my own vessel. I would rather have kept my captain…”

“Loyal even then…”

He huffed. “Yes well, Liam wouldn’t let me be otherwise. Older brothers tend to demand rather than ask.”

Emma startled and struggled against his arm that tried to steady her. It took some pushing to get her elbow beneath her enough so she could prop up and see his face. She didn’t ask anything, or give a face for him to read. She could be made of stone and he could tell her what she was feeling.

He huffed again, knowing he’d opened the door to another story another time. “Liam was my brother and my captain. When he died, I took his place. And when he died, the only thing I had in my heart was rage. Rage lead to dangerous choices and in those days, dangerous choices were usually met with a hangman’s noose or a blade. But I was born under a lucky omen and escaped death every time it arrived for a dance. A month I did this, and finally the grief was too much to bear alone. So I went to my Milah, hoping that this story would be one she’d listen to for my sake instead of hers. And she did of course. Compassionate woman that she was, opened her arms and held me for hours as I wept out the worst of my pain. In doing so, my heart had room again for love, which burned as bright as the pain it still held. Dangerous choices…” He breathed, hard and through his nose. “We had each other that night. The next morning I begged her to leave with me. I was captain now, and she could come along and pose as my wife. Christ I think I even proposed twice in that rambling… she quieted me with a kiss and smiled for me, told me that before the next night was over, she’d be with me on the ship.”

He brushed a few fallen strands behind Emma’s ear, looking to her eyes but seeing something long gone.

“It was wrong, to beg a married woman to leave her life. Utterly dishonorable of me, the repercussions to her reputation would be irreversible. Liam had been right all along, and it took further pain and a few decades as a wolf to finally hear him. But I was in love, and she was unhappy. I was in pain and unwilling to be alone and… I just… I _needed_ her, as much as she needed to know the kind and loving touch of a man. As promised, she was on my ship before the next sunrise and I had my crew pull us out as soon as her feet landed on the deck. I didn’t want to chance her husband finding his bed empty and mine full. We were clear of England when the sun was fully birthed, headed on our way to Paris.” Killian finally connected with Emma’s eyes, winking with a half-felt smirk on his lips. “Wanted to be impressive you see. We didn’t stop roving the European shores for a long time, and where we were once privateers for the local merchants in the Kingdom of Great Britain, to the rest of the world we were nothing short of pirates. We tried to keep honest work where we could, but that pesky language barrier made such endeavors difficult. Milah didn’t mind the dishonesty of what we had become; she very nearly thrived on it. Sheltered as she had been, her soul was bright in the tavern where we met. But out there on our own, working as hard as any of my men, picking up new skills in each new port… Emma she all but glowed. It was like something had woken up within her.

“After a handful of years, we felt it was safe to return home, certain that whatever outrages her husband had managed would be over with. Still, I erred on the side of caution and made for London rather than her home port. The adrenaline of it all got the better of us, and as base it is of me to say, I wore the poor woman out. She opted for remaining in our cabin over getting a hot meal and a drink somewhere. I should have stayed with her, but I was feeling restless and opted to roam about the streets with some of my men. We were on our third tavern when an old man approached my table, asking if I was captain of _Liam’s Revenge_. Short and limping, hair like greasy straw and graying with age, eyes large in his head and wider still in his pleading. He introduced himself as Robert, a spinner from Pembroke. I was a bit into my cups by then and didn’t make the simple connections. I antagonized him for bothering to come to my table at all, mocked his physical appearance for all I could and finished by outing him as an aging cabin boy turned whore. He pleaded again his name and profession, asking if I might know his wife. She had gone missing some years back he had said, and he had been told she was seen heading to the docks the night before. So he had begged the harbormaster for a list of ships that had been there, and mine was one of them. He begged a third time if I knew anything. My drink addled brain finally caught up and knew him for what he was, so I claimed ignorance of such a woman and boasted that I never bothered learning the names of the women I enjoyed anyway. He left us then, and that was when I should have stayed away from Milah. As soon as the man left us, I had my crew filter away from the table one by one, milling about before ultimately leaving the tavern to head back to the ship. The crew loved Milah almost as much as I did, and they all knew of what her husband had done to her. Our minds were all on making sure she was safe that we didn’t bother too hard to watch for being followed, or to wonder at the coincidence that her husband was in the same part of London at the same time we were.”

He turned his head to the stars once more, closing his eyes for reasons Emma could only imagine.

“He was there at the docks when we reached them, looking different, but it was him. His walking stick and limp were gone, as was the disgusting nature of his appearance. His clothes looked like they belonged to a man of wealth rather than a spinner. His eyes were the same, too large for his head and wide like he was in the middle of a hunt. He asked for his wife again, so I lied again. This time I claimed Milah had died of a pox a year prior, blaming superstition in lieu of speaking of the dead. He seemed to believe me this time, his face falling just a touch in grief. And like a light switch, his mood changed again and he challenged me to a duel at sunrise for stealing his wife. I took the challenge, arrogant in my ability and as a chance for my crew to get Milah out of London and away from him again. I left instructions with my crew that they were to sail out until the horizon only saw an outline of London town, to return in a week’s time and seek me out near the Tower. To see if I had been caught and hung or if I was hiding out in the gutters. If I was dead, they were to take Milah wherever she desired so long as it wasn’t anywhere in Her Majesty’s kingdom. I found a dark corner to lurk in waiting for the sun to come, but then he showed early, the sky not even starting to brighten yet. I fought him anyway when he antagonized me, so eager to prove I was the better man. I couldn’t have known then… he beat me. Not fairly mind, but in the end that hardly matters when I was on my knees before him and both his blade and mine were scissored across my neck. I was ready for the sword, ready to meet up with my brother in the next life, but my torment was to continue. Milah was there shouting at her husband to stop his actions… _that_ I should have known, that she would have figured out something was wrong and that she would be able to talk my men out of my orders and into her own. Her husband dropped the swords and walked to her, berating her for leaving him, for making him worry about her suffering the life as a pirate’s whore. It was my fault that she spoke up for herself, she had changed herself into something stronger during her life at sea; his browbeating tactics wouldn’t work on her anymore. So she blurted out that his abuse was too much to bear when she never loved him. It was the plain truth, but like most men in that age, he couldn’t handle her as a self-aware woman.

“He was between Milah and me, and I was viewing him from behind and kneeling on the ground. I had been trying to shuffle quietly to retrieve a knife from my boot, not wanting to provoke him into hurting her before I could intervene. He did something to her, and to this day, I’m still not sure what it exactly was, but he reached out and touched his fingertips to her chest. The color drained from her face and I swear I saw her dark hair fade and sink against her skull. I shouted and ran to her side, forgetting to injure him completely. She was still breathing, but only just. Her eyes –those wide and beautiful eyes– were sunken and fogged over. She told me she loved me on the air leaving her lungs.”

Emma was crying; tears long since falling as his story closed. Killian looked to her again, shifting his body and moving his free hand to cup her face, thumb swiping away the wetness on her cheek. He studied her face for what seemed endless minutes before he smiled at her, though how was beyond Emma’s comprehension.

“Crying for a woman centuries gone… such as brilliant woman you are. Milah was my first love. And for a long time –a very long time– I couldn’t fathom anyone else. There has been the occasional dalliance to scratch the preverbal itch, and I even tried to have a relationship a few times, but none of them were _her_. I couldn’t pass that final threshold that would bind myself to them. Ruby… Ruby had even entered a heat once, quite unexpectedly, and the instinct of a male wolf around a female in heat is pure carnality. I shouldn’t have been able to think, much less find the ability to turn her down. I couldn’t see it through, and neither could my wolf. I had long since given up the idea of finding anyone, finding love, until I met you.”

A few more tears crashed from her eyes. Somedays, he was just too much. But any less and Emma knew she wouldn’t be nearly as interested. So she did the next best thing, she settled back to his side, nuzzling her face into his shirt to hide the blush. And maybe wipe the rest of the tears away. He resumed combing through her hair, encouraging her to cling tighter to him. She had a general idea of how the story ended, but like all stories, assuming the end never works well.

“Killian? What happened next?”

He stiffened, like she thought he would. He always tries to hide away the scarier parts of him. “The point of the story Emma, was to let you know how much you’ve affected me, how much I’ve come to love you. I abhor the idea of you thinking this is just something I’m stuck with. I’m in this for the long haul, that however fast or slow we go about it, is ok because I’m not going anywhere. I know you’re wanting to take a particular step forward, and that I keep hitting the brakes. It isn’t from lack of interest –which is absurd frankly– but from a stronger need to make sure you’ve healed properly. And before you try telling me you’re ok, I’m going to remind you that you still have nightmares and they are more intense the nights we attempt to share a bed for simple sleep.” This time it was him that moved to hover, “I loved Milah, most ardently. And for almost 300 years, her ghost held my heart. I don’t know if you stole it from her, or if I did just before putting it at your feet. Perhaps Milah kept it captive waiting for a lass as stubborn as she was to come along to hand it over to. All I know is that it’s yours now, and proving so with physical vigor is a step I can wait a very long time to take.”

Emma smiled. “Killian? What happened next?”

He sighed, looking as put out as he could. “Confess my heart to you; claim my good honor with willing to wait for sex and all you want is to know how I dealt with him?” Emma nodded and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a groan. “That part of the tale is better left for another time.”

“Are you serious? You haven’t even answered the question of why you have white eyes when you wolf out!”

Killian chuckled, “Aye I know. But I had to tell this tale to tell that one. But we both can only handle so much emotional upheaval in a single night, so it’ll have to keep for now.” He raised his head to look over her face once more, “Think you can leave it at my declarations of love and my virtuous abstinence darling?”

Emma snorted. “Virtuous my ass. You might be concerned about my nightmares, but that isn’t why you’re not putting out. But fine, you don’t wanna tell me, I won’t push. Can’t blame a girl for having her own itch to scratch though, I was just hoping I could use your fingers to do it.”

His lips crashed to hers, his warmth pressing from his body to hers. His lips trapped hers while he breathed deep, letting the flavors of dessert seep from his kiss to make her beg for more. A hand drifted to cradle her cheek as its thumb settled on her chin to open her up further. Hips pressed to her thigh on a groan while the hand he balanced on dug through the blanket to grip the earth below. Her head began to spin, tipsy from the taste of him, from the feel of him. His hips pressed again… and again… his body demanding her attention. A hint of tongue teased her mouth, and all the while his hand softly cradled her face. Holding her in place with such gentility while the rest of him pushed the limits of public decency. He pulled his mouth back, probably to catch a breath or two, but she chased him without letting the kiss stop. A whimper from her throat, another groan from him, and he was back where they had started. The fingers teasing her hairline in a sweet caress, easily itching to card through her hair.

He always had a soft hand for her, a touch of reverence against the baser push of needs.

He broke away from her mouth, whispering in anxious urgency. “Emma… sweetheart…”

_Sweetheart…_

His hand petting her…

_My sweet girl…_

Her head spun wildly, she couldn’t keep up with what she didn’t want to remember and what she was desperate to get on with. There were walls around her and baby powder on her skin, she was outside with the stars twinkling in bored vigil. Hands explored unwanted as water sluiced down her skin, arms banded around her body and moved her around like a doll. Her eyes squeezed shut as air refused to enter her lungs, her stomach lurched closed against the taste of lemon-flavored fish. Her ears rung with the crack of the cane against her backside, sounding each time like Killian’s voice crying out her name.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

 

When The Council had asked Belle to be a personal assistant to Gold, she took it for the joke it should have been. But Blue had been earnest with the position, causing Belle to all but scream her rejections. It took The Sorcerer divulging probably more than he was sanctioned to, to even get Belle to listen. Deep down, in a secret part of herself that she rarely acknowledged, Belle wished she hadn’t… not even for such an old friend as Lin. Gold was selfish and destructive and would never care about the fate or fortune of others. How was she to work with the man without compromising her own morals and principles; to say nothing for the sad fact that she’d be living with him and helping him complete the actions she normally condemned him for. But Merlin –stoic as ever in his calm demeanor– convinced her that the risk involved was worth her investigation. Who better he had argued, than the wolf that could quiet the beast in all creatures to reveal the intent of the person underneath. And what better adventure, he had tempted, than learning about a creature that couldn’t be fully affected by her strengths, forcing her to rely on her wits and instincts.

She bloody well should have known better than to listen to a man known for charming those around him to do as he saw. He wasn’t wrong –and that was the rub of Merlin’s charms– but Belle had time now with the one called Mr. Gold, and all she wanted was to run for home. Away from his odd behavior, away from the odd chores he set before her. Her job here was to assist him on a personal level –schedule meetings and appointments, make sure he had what he needed when he needed it. But he treated her more like a house servant than anything else, setting her to dust and wash the various collections he had about his various homes. Belle herself had only been to three of those homes, though she was certain there were more strewn over the globe. He was a greedy and possessive Fae, more so than any wolf Belle had encountered. He felt comfortable only among his things, and his things were only to be kept within walls he owned. He didn’t trust his things to be in one location, nor did he trust a basic staff to take care of them while he was away. Which only made the mystery of why he wanted a personal assistant even bigger.

He had moved her to his castle –somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland if she read the stars right, though not likely to be within fifty kilometers of anyone else, if anyone else could even see the place to begin with– after two months at his New York penthouse. At first, she took it as a blessing. More rooms and hallways to avoid him with. More history to pass the time with. But the separation from Pack ties began to take its toll. She was used to traveling all over the Americas, and parts of Europe even, to help wolves in need of her abilities. But she always was allowed to touch back with her pack to help her own wolf keep centered. Those two months in New York had her close enough to pack that the issue hadn’t arisen. But with an entire ocean and god knows how much Fae magic between her and them, the strain of being alone in a castle was getting to her. The woman might be content to sit near a fire with a book and a cuppa, but the wolf needed interaction of others. It was causing nightmares at night, bringing her to tears before she even awoke. The nightmares caused her to seek him out if he was home, needing just a modicum of interaction from another living creature to sate the wolf’s needs of its social constructs. The interaction caused Mr. Gold to berate her for howling at the moon all night, and disturbing him during the day for her ridiculous need for cuddling. He would go on against her species, belittle her intelligence down to primitive and instinctual rutting’s over anything else. To turn around and take her to the nearest town, insisting that provisions were needed once again, with her eating him out of house and home –the kitchens were never empty. He would let her do the shopping, the interactions with the locals; as far as letting her chat up at a storefront here and there so long as it didn’t go on for too long. He’d stand back, keeping watch while she soaked up the connections available.

Her mind shouted the word “abuse” at her, for his harsh behaviors and soft recompense. Lord knows how many humans and wolves she’d counseled through similar. But there lay the enigma. Why abuse her at all? Belle could understand the harsh words if he believed them; he was a vile creature and she expected no less from him. So why did he take measures to give her what she ultimately wanted without accepting guilt? A truly hateful thing wouldn’t be bothered to care for her well-being, and yet he seemed to. And that was Belle’s true problem. Having this puzzle of a man before her, feeding her curiosity without realizing he was doing so. It was the reason Belle had remained in the position, that mystery. Not the persuasion of The Council, not the chance to see if this creature had more in store for one of her oldest friends. Her abilities calmed the world around her, leaving a hole and thirst for adventure; a wanting for the conflict she abated. And that wanting was in constant conflict with the need to survive. So this was new, and Belle loved new feelings as much as she loved old things with history. In a word, her time with Mr. Gold was addicting. Down to a chemical level where the rationality of the brain was drowned under hormones and instinctual reactions.

She was becoming addicted to the sensations her abilities denied her.

She was becoming addicted to being around a Dark Fae.

Which is why she was becoming desperate to run away, before she couldn’t go without.


	3. He Asks and She Walks Away

First: Emma noticed the moist heat of her breath swirling around her face. Which, even with clean breath, is uncomfortable. Second: was the weight of heavy fabric all over her body. Third never came as the panic was swift and sharp, evaporating the humid breath from her lungs in a dramatic vacuum effect. Her hands became claws as she pulled at the cloth surrounding her. It seemed as endless as a nightmare; tearing away one just to find another. There was no light, no indication that she was outside her own mind. The world was slowly tilting even as she remained horizontal on the bed; Emma was damn sure she was about to pass out, but she didn’t stop moving her hands, desperate for air that wasn’t recycled from her own body. Her fingers froze first, and it was a fleeting thought for Emma that her blood was literally freezing in her veins in her panic. Blissfully, it was the final barrier between the ensnaring cloth and the air on the other side. And the air outside her cocoon was artic compared, but the very idea of remaining buried as she was had her skin crawling. The warmth of summer hadn’t yet begun to fade; she shouldn’t be so cold, she should be drenched in sweat given the mounds of fabric engulfing her. She peered through the opening she had created but couldn’t see her surroundings; it was a dark room, but her lack of sight was mostly for the panic still redirecting her focus to minor things –like breathing normally.

_Him. Ruby Lucas. Granny. Graham Humbert. Roland Hood._

Emma ran through the names in order; names of the people she loved, as she met them. The list was longer than she repeated, having loved so easily most of her life. (Against her own better judgement to be certain.) But with so many visiting her thoughts –through bonds or therapy– Emma felt it was better all-around to keep to the small and easily explainable.

_Him. Ruby Lucas. Granny. Graham Humbert. Roland Hood._

She never said Killian’s name. There was love, that was a given. But Emma was still deciding how much there was, and she couldn’t let a stray thought filter his way only to raise his hopes higher than she could reach. It was half the reason she was pushing for something physical to break between them; lust hides as love when it’s abundant in source.

_Him. Ruby Lucas. Granny. Graham Humbert. Roland Hood._

Family. She kept it to family. Roland might not be her family directly, but there wasn’t getting around loving him. Even Regina –in full territorial glory– understood why Emma felt close to the boy and never stopped Emma from playing loving Aunt when the opportunity was there. So the names were repeated, over and over. Family that she couldn’t shut out from the core of her; even if she put the physical distance between her and them.

_Him. Ruby Lucas. Granny. Graham Humbert. Roland Hood._

She actually felt pangs for not including other names that had done so much to bring her back from whatever edge of sanity she had been skirting. But if voicing Killian’s name was a can of worms, then saying ones like Quin or Will Scarlet was invoking something closer to a H.P. Lovecraft creature. Even if the potential look on Killian’s face would be priceless. David and Mary Margaret were of the same issue to different degrees. They never intruded, but the ceremony that brought Emma into their Pack, left them an open window to her head too. Emma wasn’t ready to test those waters either, she doubted she’d ever be.

_Him. Ruby Lucas. Granny. Graham Humbert. Roland Hood._

Walsh was dead. Cora was dead. There shouldn’t be anything after her. She is likely somewhere safe. The odds of being the target of another big bad was too small to think about. All Emma had to worry about was getting her head and body under control.

_Him. Ruby Lucas. Granny. Graham Humbert. Roland Hood._

Emma felt lightheaded, but feeling was returning to her fingers and toes. The worst had passed. So she stretched the blankets –her fingers finally relaying the thick and plush nature to her ensnarement– trying to find an edge to her burrito situation. There was a window letting in what light nighttime held, but for Emma, the gap in consciousness could be days. Emma swore openly, both hoping and dreading that whoever was nearby was one of the few that had access to thoughts. The mollycoddling wouldn’t be enjoyed, but the assurance that she was somewhere safe would be. The most she could get her eyes to tell her was that she was in a bedroom and it was dark. Breaking free of her cocoon, Emma sat up, twisting in all directions to ease the stiff muscles in her back. There was a faint scent of cinnamon and Granny’s pot pie coming from… somewhere… which caused some mild confusion –Granny didn’t leave New York, and Emma couldn’t drum up the memories of traveling home. She groaned, cursing her blackouts that kept landing her in the unknown, leaving her anxieties to make unwanted return performances. Her ears popped on a wide yawn… faint humming of a male tenor filtered down into her little cave as if queued up for the intermission.

Relief slammed into her. Late summer meant Killian was just about turning his home into an ice box; Killian had explained the warmth of werewolves more than once to her, but all Emma heard was wolves prefer the near freezing temperatures. And he took to having Granny’s food brought out for emergency purposes when a care package from the Old Woman proved familiar smells help Emma recover quicker. She was safe… she was safe…

Emma stilled her movements, hoping to hear him better through the walls. More than once, Emma had heard him singing from somewhere else in the house; soft clear tones that spoke of genuine talent or years of work. And more than once, he had exaggerated his vocals to something ridiculous once he had noticed her getting close enough. It wasn’t like sneaking up on a werewolf was easy, what with their super-awesome-senses and all. It had taken her a few encounters to catch on that his singing voice was something he kept private, and his reasons for it even more so. It was so uncharacteristically shy of him that it made any chance to hear him unimpeded a rare treat. Emma strained her ears to catch the humming, eyes widening when the tune sounded familiar. Her memory didn’t have to do much when he began the lyrics in soft tones.

 _It isn’t far to Hushabye Mountain,_  
_And your boat waits down by the quay._  
_The winds of night, so softly are sighing…_  
_Soon they will fly your troubles to sea._

Her eyes slid closed, just as he would bid with the next verse. Emma knew the song well, having fallen in love with Dick Van Dyke at a young age through aged Disney movies. She didn’t know many kids in, or people from, the system that didn’t have an attachment to that man. He was a child’s dream for a parent… well the characters he played were, kind and gentle and always smiling. And here Killian was singing the lullaby from _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_. It was either another trick he was trying to help her through the aftermath of a blackout, or he was still bent on charming her into a school-girl blush. Easy money was it being both. She rolled and wiggled through the blankets, reaching towards the nightstand for her phone; needing to know how long she had been out for but her hand met nothing. Not even the nightstand. She nearly tumbled from the bed reaching for it. It dawned on her slowly that the window she’d ben straining to see by was in the wrong place. She was in Killian’s bedroom, not her own. Emma canted her head again, ruling that if she was in Killian’s farmhouse, then they likely had been on a date. And anytime she stayed with him after a date, he insisted she sleep in her bed in her room, always saying something about safe spaces that was hers alone. And any time he kept them out late for the stars…

_Under the… Oh fuck me…_

Her memories found themselves, deciding to return now that her mind had fully woken up. And like a bad hangover, she groaned with embarrassment. She hadn’t even made it to second base before her brain decided it wanted a vacation from reality. Which meant they hadn’t lasted to see the meteor shower. Which meant Killian had to not only pack her up in his jeep while she was deadweight, he had to clean up alone, and to kick it off, had placed her in his bed without the happy ending she had all but pushed him towards. If he were anyone else, Emma would suspect he would be feeling put out, used even. But Killian being… well, Killian… she’d double down that he was out there cleaning something to keep himself from touching her and singing lullabies for her sake. In fact, if Mary Margaret and Ruby were to be trusted –and they were always going to be– then there was a growing magical-rope-thing linking herself to Killian and back. Emotions and the like could be generally felt through it, and with experience, sent through. And if they were intimate _at all_ just before she lost it to the point of full shut down, he would have been doing all he could to send her happy thoughts. Literally. The fluid warmth she felt in her chest and the back of her head would prove it.

 _So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain,_  
_Wave goodbye, to cares of the day._  
_And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain,_  
_Sail far away from Lullaby Bay._

Emma’s eyes glazed over. For once, it wasn’t the instinctual need to have walls up that caused her to move from the room to seek him out. She genuinely cringed at the idea that he was dealing with her mental issues all on his own, likely blaming himself for them in the process. She had to shut him up, had to make him stop… She crawled out from under the pile of fabrics –noting that he hadn’t changed her from the same shorts and tee shirt she had worn for their date (and blessing him for it) before padding out flat footed to the kitchen. The scent of the potpie thickened, causing Emma’s stomach to roll appreciatively. She wasn’t even hungry as far as she could tell, but a quick snack of good food wasn’t exactly a thing she would say no to. Killian had his back to her approach (Emma didn’t spare more than a passing thought that this could be intentional or not), singing clear and repeating the short lullaby when he brought it to a finish. He was still dressed in the same clothes he wore to their date, the muscles of his back moving distractingly as he stirred something on the stove. Cinnamon hit her nose again when he lifted the pot and poured something decidedly chocolate into mugs she hadn’t noticed. ( _There were moving back muscles; no one would blame me for missing the jolly green giant dancing a jig in a tutu._ )

“Hot chocolate with cinnamon, as my lady prefers. Shepherd’s pie is nearly done; I know you’d rather have some of granny’s potpie, but that went bad day before last. So I hope this will sate until Ruby can make the trip up here in a few days. Already made the call to Granny for another round of supplies. I can put a salad together if you’re really hungry.” He finally turned, but he kept his eyes downcast. The mug that was hers was placed on the kitchen island between them before he stepped back to the stove.

The forced distance and the need to keep his eyes hidden were red flags any other day, but for all Emma could figure, he was doing it for her sake. The eggshells that surrounded her weren’t as walked on anymore, but episodes like this recent one gave way to fresh attempts. She knew from previous occasions that while physical contact could be a balm for both of them, Killian wouldn’t allow it until a full day had passed. It was always some excuse or another about making sure she wasn’t pushing herself too far too fast. But this… this made Emma wonder how much of it was for her sake, and how much was for his. Because every now and then, his wolf would show up and take a spot on the bed with her –normally at the foot of the bed, or stretched out next to her. How much was he stamping down that his wolf had to bust out and grab the contact he so obviously needed? Feeling braver, Emma set down her mug and made to move around the island.

Immediately Killian reacted by turning back to the oven, setting his own mug down and donning over mitts for the food he promised her. “Right Swan, food’s up. I know you ate earlier, but its been a while yet, fairly sure you could stand to swallow something warm and filling.”

Emma coughed, not used to his unintentional innuendo. He looked to her for it, his eyebrow moving on its own again as he sussed out she wasn’t choking on anything (even her own brain couldn’t avoid the gutter). His eyes swirled as his ears tipped pink. His feet shifted his weight a moment before he moved to dish up the pie. He kept himself busy serving them up to avoid coming near her; it was aggravating but Emma wouldn’t push him, couldn’t be easy being with a woman that had blackout panic attacks anytime things got heated. Conceding to the idea that Killian was merely frustrated with the way the night had turned out, Emma took her mug in hand and her place across from him at the breakfast nook. It was still warm outside, not the most ideal weather for a meal like shepherd’s pie, but with nerves everywhere except where they should be, comfort food was probably the only thing that would work right now anyway. Emma stabbed the steaming meat, grabbing a chunk of crust with it. She already knew Killian could cook, but those had all been breakfast foods. He held to her having dinner’s at Brookside ( _Technically, they are your family now Swan. You should be doing the familial things with them._ ) or fed her what Ruby could manage across the distance. The meat hit her tongue with warmth and flavor and she was sleepy enough to whimper in happiness. His chuckle flited over the table between them, and with a fork still in her mouth, Emma looked up to a self-satisfied grin and a cocked eyebrow.

“Is that surprise Swan? I’ve cooked plenty for you before…”

She chewed and swallowed, taking her time to find the right response. “I thought it was limited to starchy and fried breakfast foods.”

He smiled a soft small thing. “And the verdict? Will you expose me to Granny as a man who can’t even provide a meal for my companion?”

Emma ducked her head, pushing around another bite on the plate. A frown creased her face, “Companion?”

“Aye?”

“Oh.” Suddenly food wasn’t wanted at all.

“Emma? How much of our date do you remember?”

“Right up until I pulled a Rip Van Winkle.”

“Then you’ll remember my words to you. Of my heart being yours, of stories keeping because I don’t plan on going anywhere. Surely you haven’t forgotten the past few months either?”

Emma tilted her head, still not looking at him. “And yet… still ‘companion’.”

He sighed, dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter. She looked up, not used to his temper being so close, not with her. He was frowning at his plate, hands curved and gripping the edge of the table. She had no idea what button she had pushed, least of all when he was the one being confusing with the signals. Mr. Devoted when it was just the two of them, and Mr. Distant when the relationship was spoken of around others. Throw in the glaring lack of sex and Emma was limited in her options to rationalize it; options that didn’t speak well for them.

His head came back up, looking at her with swirling eyes and head canted. “Aye. Companion. A friend to stand beside. Because I’ll not be some asshole who compartmentalizes the female in his life. I know who you are to me, what you are to me, how I think and feel about you. But that’s all me, aye? And a wolf’s ideals of romantic partnerships are nothing like the modern day human ideals. So I keep it to meeself. Willingly. Cause I’ll not overwhelm you, I’ll not hurt you. It’ll keep to act on it one way or another. You want me staking my claim to the world around you? _My_ girlfriend? _My_ mate? Arm slung about your shoulders or waist whilst in public? Believe me Emma Swan, there isn’t a creature in the New England area and beyond who isn’t aware of how I feel about you. _They_ _know_. But I’ll gladly do such things, if that’s what you want. But that brings us back to an old argument aye? The problem you have between what you want and what you need, and seeing the difference. I’ve told you countless times that I’m here and I’m yours. In however format that comes in. And tonight was blatant proof that much more than what we’ve been doing isn’t going to end well for you; which in fact, hurts me nearly as much as you, love. I can’t bear to see you suffer… but you push for more than you can take.”

“Maybe I want to push. Maybe I need to be pushed. There’s no full recovery for what I went through, no back to normal. It’s me learning to cope. And that means I have to push boundaries, and limits. I have to find where they are so I can push them to where I need them to be. For all we know, I might have attacks like this the rest of my life. Are you saying that you can be just my friend from here on out?”

“If need be–“

“And how would that work out if _I_ got tired of waiting Killian? What if someone else starts giving me the attention I’m looking for, do you think being my friend will last long then? It’s not required for me to be married anymore, but how long after The Council finds out that you pulled out of this that they change their minds? I get you’re trying to take care of me, but you can’t shelter me from the blackouts. I can’t deal with anything if everyone is moving in pillows to soften the blow.”

Killian stood up, pacing about the kitchen nook. His hand made continuous movements from his face to the back of his neck. Emma watched as the ripples of pre-change shifted his body in odd places it normally didn’t, before settling back into his human shape. She hadn’t seen him this pissed since his first days back from Cora, jumpy at every new smell that came by the house, or presented on her. Emma considered being worried, or scared, but it was Killian. He wouldn’t ever hurt her. And maybe he needed just a little push too.

He stopped with his back to her, still and unbreathing. “Would you want to leave? If things came to that?”

Emma rubbed her forehead, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know Killian, it’s a hypothetical.”

“Humor me.”

She sighed. “I was told what being a mate was. And I’m thankful for you taking the time with me, I do. But you weren’t this gun-shy before, and you weren’t this gun-shy when you came back. I’ve been dating you for three… four months now? I’m starting to wonder when the boyfriend part of you is going to show up. I’m starting to wonder if it will at all.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah Killian. Boyfriend. Breaking news, you can be a friend under that title too.”

He growled. “I know what it implies Swan.” He heaved a sigh of his own. “I think you need to have another chat with the women about what being a mate entails. We’ll both have responsibilities, and _boyfriend_ doesn’t encapsulate even a fraction. I don’t believe you’re ready for that stage, not when we can’t even kiss without you spiraling.”

“Funny that _that’s_ the part we have trouble with. Maybe you don’t want that as much as I do.”

He was on his knees and in front of her in a blink. “Pick fights all you please Swan, you won’t bait me so simply. But I shall answer you anyway, because I know if I don’t you’ll count it against me in the next fight. I’ve wanted for things plenty in my long life, but none so much as you.” Emma began to roll her eyes causing him to reach up tug her hair. “Look at me Swan and tell me I’m lying.”

She did, eyebrows pinching close before she withdrew a little from him. “Just because you believe it, doesn’t make it true.”

He huffed. “Fine… have it your way Swan. Be stubborn. Doesn’t change that I’m here for you regardless of any situation you’ve drummed up in your head.”

“I’m talking about sex Killian. Not about warm fuzzy feelings.”

“I know. And someday, you’ll understand that sex between us isn’t the problem. Until then, you’ll have to suffer the warm feelings I’m trying to cultivate here. Because while sex would be something extraordinary between us Swan, I don’t want it to be the only thing.”

“Would have to _be_ a thing for us first.”

Killian dropped his head. She could feel herself retreating further into her emotional walls, and she knew she was hitting buttons harder than normal. He was only trying to take care of her and she fighting him for it. It just wasn’t easy on her either, needing something that her own brain couldn’t handle having. Having him cater to her stints of panic like he wasn’t itching to take this to the same levels she was… it was aggravating. She knew he wanted her, hell she was sure she felt he wanted her just before the world hit the spin cycle. Emma just wished he’d act on those feelings rather than playing monk. Killian breathed deep, and Emma saw it ripple along his back as another pre-change threatened his form. His hands landed on her knees, sliding half way up her thighs and kneading the flesh he found. Her pulse skipped around with the touch, the slight adrenaline already in her veins amplifying the sensation of skin on skin. He leaned forward until his head was in the crook of her shoulder, nuzzling while his hands guided her legs apart to allow him room. He pushed and shifted until he was cradled between her legs and held in her arms, encouraging her to engage in holding him as much as she could.

“Emma, I don’t wish to fight you on this. I worry giving you what you ask for will set you back and drive you farther from me.” His hands slid up her legs to rest on her hips. “Greedy man that I am, I’m reluctant to give up what little contact we’ve managed.” He moved his face from her shoulder to the crook of her neck. Emma’s shallow breaths were leaving her light headed. “I can hear your heart love. Racing inside you. I can hear your lungs struggle to grab a breath. And I’m left to question if that’s the effect I have on you, if this is your body exciting itself on the chance I might explore it, if you’re quivering because I’ve touched your skin. Or am I to question if this is the start of another panic attack, are you trapped within a memory that I can’t share, are you shaking so… because of fear.” His nose trailed up her neck. “Perhaps the options aren’t mutually exclusive. Maybe you are having a reaction to my attentions, and that’s bringing about the nightmares.” His grip on her hips tightened as he slid her lower half closer to him. Her legs splayed wider, wrapping around his waist as she discovered a very telling reaction of his to her. “And because of these questions Emma, I have to hide _this_ from you. Often.” His voice dropped and she knew Zuul was close to the surface. “My desire for you is never a question of if, but of when.” He nipped her earlobe before pulling away and letting space come between them again. His eyes swirled in blues and whites, his smile sitting inhumanly on his face. “But only when you can say the same will we take that step. I want you to remember our coupling without the stain of the mongrel in your head. Days, months, years… I can wait for it however long I have to. Because I believe in good form, so when I win your heart Emma –and I will win it– it’ll be because you want me. Without any shadow chasing you.”

She blinked at him. Her skin was vibrating, and he was talking of taking time to fall in love first? He might not be human, but she damn well was and there was only so much she could take before she looked into ways of restraining him. It wasn’t the first time since they had started seeing each other, that Emma felt she was stuck in a version of a Jane Austen story while her libido was desperately sidetracking to the trashy love novel editions. He smiled at her, soft and gentle once more. His hand rising from her hip to slide into her hair and cradle her skull. He pressed a doting kiss to her temple before pulling away to stand a few feet from her. His earlier attentions eye level with her for the half second before he turned and adjusted himself. It was enough to have Emma debating ropes vs. chains again.

“Now darling, I shall clean up while you go tend to your nightly rituals. I’ll have to run to release this newly pent up tension, but don’t fret. I’m sure David has sent someone round to keep an eye on the house, if that troublesome Scarlet isn’t already hovering to make my life miserable. I won’t be out long, probably just a quick run to Brookside and back.”

“Yeah. Ok.” She licked her lips, standing on slightly shaky legs. She took a few strides back to the bedrooms before stopping at the doorway with a thought. “Actually… Killian?” He looked up with a hum. Popping a brow for her to continue. “I can understand why –well no I don’t understand why, but I’ll respect your choice. But this physical distance is hurting both of us. I want it, you… you actually need it from what I was told. If we can’t…” Emma waved her hands in the air, looking for a word that wouldn’t be juvenile or clinical; finding nothing. “… _that_ … can we figure out something else? Or maybe ease into it slowly? I want to, and the rejection –well intended it might be– isn’t any more helpful than pushing me a little passed my currents limits.” He moved his mouth to answer but she cut him off. “Just think about it for now? I’m going to sleep in your bed. I expect to wake up with you in the same room at least.”

She turned and left before he could refute or try and compromise. Bossy wolf that he tended to be, Emma knew he would only talk his way around it. Worse, he would make sense and she would go along with whatever the bastard came up with. As it was, Emma was worked up… _again_ … so the shower was calling her name. She just hoped that the bond thingy worked in her favor and tormented him with the very intimate way she was planning on using that showerhead. It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand his point of view, she really did. But she wanted out of her head finally, and the easiest way has always been sex. If Killian wasn’t going to help with that, then she’d just take care of it herself. And if that didn’t work… well she’d burn that bridge when she came to it.

* * *

Well wasn’t that just _wizard_. The set up was perfect tonight; Malcolm had made sure of it. But the damn girl had to relapse into a sodding blackout. It pushed his plans back another month minimum; Killian wouldn’t touch her now even if Ella DeVil enthralled them both into primitive mating rituals; although the thought had merit so Malcolm tucked away for another time. He huffed from the shadows of the trees that lined the Captain’s property, it wasn’t too much of a hardship to delay the other players from playing their pieces on the board, just a right pain in the arse. In a rare move for Killian, Malcolm watched the old wolf leave his mate alone in the farmhouse. Briefly confused by the act –and frankly enraged at the momentary idea that things had dissolved between the Captain and Miss Swan– he almost stepped from his shadows and blew the game entirely. But Killian paced the house on his four legs, sniffing anything and everything in his path, before stopping near a cellar door and chuffing down within. A white wolf with patchwork coloring came up, head bent to one side in submission. Something unseen passed between the animals before Killian took off towards Brookside Manor. The patchwork wolf remained, moving quietly to perch beneath a window like a garish statue in some low-end department store.

 _Interesting_.

Not one of his pieces to be sure, but Malcolm wasn’t ever against new pieces to play with. Malcolm watched as the wolf stood resolute under the sill until a sound from within would catch its attention and it would twist its body until it could sniff the window or peer in. It always returned to its original position, keeping vigil over Miss Swan like a personal guard. Figuring the Captain had set the mutt to task, Malcolm pondered exactly how he had pulled it off. It wasn’t a secret that Killian Jones was one of the more dominant wolves currently known to The Council, but he held no ties to Pack or family that would allow for him to assert his will on another. It was something to mull over, something to occupy Malcolm’s mind rather than the rush to move people as he liked. Something he had been itching to do as of late, so this development was most fortuitous.

A slim smile breached Malcolm’s ageless face. Ideas coming to life in his long dead visage.

_This just might be fun._

* * *

In his castle, there was a large room. Well they were mostly all large, but this one had to have been a banquet hall of some kind in its conception, a chapel even. The original fireplace was ten feet wide and taller than Belle herself. The long windows had been fitted with stained glass windows at some point, but long since covered with dark and heavy fabrics that no matter how hard Belle tugged at them, remained fixed to the walls and sills. Electricity looked to have been added in, like it had with the rest of the castle, but wires looked degraded with age and didn’t always work when the appropriate switches were flipped. So Belle was left to old methods of lighting the ancient chandelier and sconces about the room. Her first time doing so was nearly a magical experience. Simple movement had caused dust to shift and float through the air like fairies in children’s folktales, dancing about themselves in streams of orange light. Even with the heightened abilities of her wolf, the walls took time to come into focus. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, with books stuffed in haphazardly. Belle was sure to feel upset with their mistreatment as soon as the enormity of what she had found abated.

Her mouth kept opening with each new nook she discovered. Books old enough to honestly be called tomes, scrolled up parchments of maps and snippets of oral history permanently etched to paper. There didn’t seem to be any functioning system to the room, and it didn’t seem to serve any function itself other than to host the books for the dust to slowly eat away at. Shameful to Belle’s mind. So she set about cleaning it from that first meeting. She decided that starting with the upper most shelves so the debris would all eventually gather below would be the most efficient; she hadn’t gotten very far –only half way through the uppermost shelf on the south wall– before she stopped entirely to rethink her approach to the project. There wasn’t a point to cleaning anything if she couldn’t put it all to rights and make the library a proper one along the way. Thus, she mapped out the room, devising up a rudimentary organization. Then came the idea that resembled a botched dumb waiter for Belle to lower smaller objects or scrolled papers safely down, where she would clean them and find temporary places for them to rest before Belle could finish the bulky parts of the room. Finally, she got back to her starting point with pen and paper, writing down titles and authors for later sorting. If it was to be done, then it was bloody well going to be done right she had mused. The room took time to come together, as Mr. Gold had other chores for her to accomplish. Occasionally she went days without even entering the hall that led to her den. But –like a god send– right about when her time with Mr. Gold was beginning to worry her, the room was finished. The dust wouldn’t be completely gone until she could properly air the room out through the windows, but that would be easy enough upkeep.

The library turned out to be more than simply a wonderful trove of escapism. It helped her to communicate with Mr. Gold and gave her knowledge she wasn’t sure what to do with… information about werewolves even _she_ hadn’t known. It became her haven in dank stone walls as unfeeling as their master. The cavernous room remained just as dark as him, as the long strips of thick fabric refused to open, making the passing of hours impossible to keep track of. More than once, she had forgotten to bring him the tea until he shouted for it; if she even heard him shout to begin with. But Belle didn’t feel as if the blame could be placed entirely on her shoulders, Mr. Gold was just in possession of stories she hadn’t read or heard of before. And he was in possession of one book she would never tire of; an early edition of her favorite childhood story. Not something easily found as she shied the three-century mark by only fifty-seven years. Belle had lost her copy of the book to simple age and use; words faded under the constant caress of her fingertips, pages torn from the toss and turn of a book trapped between herself and the bed she slept on. As wonderful the discovery of the library had been for Belle, finding that particular book had lifted the ache for home for the first time in so long. It didn’t have her mother’s graceful script on the front cover page, wishing Belle an open heart with an ogre’s strength, or the smudged thumbprint from when Belle snuck a pastry and the book to a servant’s corridor in her father’s house. It didn’t even smell the same, as if books could carry a lingering scent like a living creature. Still, the fact that she could read the words and turn the pages once again held a pleasure for Belle and found herself partaking in it frequently. She had even taken shears to an edge of one of the drapes for a stream of color-tinted sunlight. She concluded that for now, her stay with Mr. Gold couldn’t be so horrible if she had managed to find a sunlit corner and a good book in her lap.

So engrossed in her beloved tale, she hadn’t heard the shouting, nor the banging on doors. She hadn’t heard the library door creak on its ancient hinges, nor the footsteps across the stone floor. It’s hard to escape a happy bubble in your mind when reality is so unpleasing.

“Is this where you hide yourself away when you should be taking care of the assignments I issue you?”

Belle startled, nearly ruining her book (yes hers, she wasn’t giving it back) with her tea. “M-Mr. Gold. Sir. Sorry, I didn’t hear your approach.”

His face sneered down at her. “Clearly.”

“My apologies, what do you need me to do?” She set her tea and book aside, missing the shift of his eyes to catch the title.

“Well, it’s a bit late for a proper lunch. You’re lucky I was caught up in my own affairs and didn’t note the time either. Go to the kitchen and make me something filling, but not overly so. I have dinner plans and wouldn’t want to be rude to my companion because my staff is over eager in compensating for their failures.”

“Of course Mr. Gold. Any preferences?”

“Not likely.” A cruel smile curved his lips. “I’ll eat whatever is readily available.”

Belle suppressed her shudder until after she had exited the wing of the castle. He intended to have her think he was speaking of her, and intended for her to question if he meant it sexually or quite literally. She personally didn’t care for what he intended, she only cared how she responded to it. And her response only brought on one emotion: revulsion. She just wasn’t sure if it was for him or herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Him_ is not Neal


	4. I See the Light When the Sun Sets in the East

**Chapter 4**

**I See the Light When the Sun Sets in the East**

* * *

Morning came like it was supposed to. The man, who should have been in the bed with her, wasn’t. Emma groaned into the pillows. His chivalry and “gentleman” standards were going to be the bane of her existence if he didn’t stop to listen to her. He was right, the man was always right. But that didn’t mean she was wrong. Emma was fully aware of how her mind short-circuited when things got… heated. But she couldn’t ignore how much it was grating on her own nerves. She needed to be over it, needed to be better just so she’d stop screaming at herself all the livelong day for having short breath for the dumbest things. It had been _months_ for fucks sake. Everyone would be encouraging her to push herself if it had been her legs busted and not her head. How could she relearn dealing with stress if everyone was making damn sure she avoided it? The brain was a muscle too dammit; she needed to put it through its paces.

Even if it hurt.

Really hurt.

Frustrated, Emma pushed herself out of the bed to head for the kitchen. There was a headache building above her right eye that only a cup of coffee would fix. Maybe two. Emma didn’t care that the summer weather had the morning hours hotter than what was acceptable for hot beverages, caffeine was currently required. Truth was, Emma didn’t think the weather was all that bad. Mild to the point of needing a light hoodie some mornings. This place had nothing on Florida, though not many places were as horrible as Florida. Humid and swampy, reptiles and insects the size of her vee-dub… no Maine was perfect summer weather. And the winter was something she was only looking forward to if a certain wolfman would stop avoiding her. And if Killian happened to be in the kitchen when she got there, well then she could share the growing headache with him. And if he made breakfast to do _yet another_ thing for her, well that was just ammo for when what little words she had were used up.

The state of the kitchen broke her train of thought; however derailed it might have already been.

It was empty.

The counters were clear of any food or used dishes. The vacant feeling of being alone in a house crept its way into her bones, causing a slight shiver to take her. First she panicked thinking he hadn’t even bothered to come home after their squabble, her heart pounding at being left alone. Again. Then she panicked that maybe he hadn’t been able to come home, that he had been hurt on his run and was alone out somewhere in the woods. Stuck on a loop between the two options, the sudden –and loud– beeping notification on the kitchen tablet of an incoming message made her jump sideways into the island counter. Huffing at herself –and the smug raised eyebrow Killian would be wearing for it– Emma opened the message to a video message from the smug bastard himself.

He was lucky it wasn’t a live feed.

“Morning Swan. I imagine you’re quite cross with me right now…”

“No shit.”

“…and I can just about hear you swearing even though this is prerecorded. First thing’s first: breakfast is sitting warm in the oven. Unless you woke up obscenely late again, then I beg you to be kind on the microwave.”

“Oh my god, that was one time!”

“Secondly, you blew it up.” He held up a hand in the video. “I know. I know love. You’re positively seething by now since I’m predicting where you’re taking the conversation after you woke up and I wasn’t there to be yelled at properly. Now, I did come home. And I did stay a few hours in the bed with you. I kept wolf-skin and stayed down by the foot of the bed. David came around early morning, requesting some help with a Changeling that was transferred to his Pack recently. She doesn’t take too well to authority apparently, nor to her recent Change. I should be home round late afternoon when Lance can retake his duties. I’ll tell you more of what’s going on, and I’ll be bringing along more of your things. David and Snow want you out of harm’s way until the Changeling can be better controlled. If I’m right, Scarlet should still be lurking about, so you aren’t entirely alone. We’ll discuss that too if you like; though I was under the impression you already knew he was doing that. I had asked Snow to stop in for a visit, but I don’t know if she’ll be able with this new wolf causing new trouble. It wasn’t to babysit you; I just thought you’d like another talk about the mating bond we share. One on one from someone other than me.” His hand scratched the back of his ear. “I am sorry for my part in last night… the quarrel, not the kissing. You couldn’t pay me a king’s ransom to be sorry for that. And for this morning when you woke and I wasn’t there. I know you panicked, and not because I’m predicting it. I would have felt it, which is when I’ll be sending this video along. Otherwise I would have just called you for a quick hullo. I don’t know when I’ll have a free moment before Lance gets here, but if you need me for anything I want you to send word. Promise?”

She would of course, not wanting _that_ fight, but she remained silent for the video to finish.

“Out loud Swan.”

 _He really can be creepy sometimes._ “Promise.”

He winked at the camera, “There’s a good girl. Now… I should get to helping out here. Lounge about the house for the day, or give Rubles a ring. I’m sure she’s waiting for the update on the events of last night. I’ll be home soon love.”

The video cut out with Killian kissing his fingertips and pressing them to the camera. Emma kissed her own, pressing them to the image of his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called away before she woke, and while he wouldn’t wake her to tell her these things, he never left her wondering either. The first time, had been a video call. And when it came to hang up, the best she could give him was a press of kissed fingers to the screen. She’d seen the slight disappointment, but he covered it fast. And so started the ritual of pressed fingertips, a sweet compromise to Emma’s short comings with communication.

They hadn’t said _THE_ words yet.

She hadn’t been ready then, and she wasn’t so sure if she was ready now. He wouldn’t until she could, and she couldn’t because she wanted to say them without stuttering them out. After all he’d done, he deserved to hear them and not have them said as a question. She wasn’t sure if what they had was that heavy word yet anyway. They were mated, but from what Emma understood, love had nothing to do with that. It was hard to figure out what things were when the other person involved kept slowing things down, but that was a repeated argument for when he was around. In the meantime she had food to eat and nothing to do except grouse about the soft handed way everyone acted around her.

_Take it easy Emma; you’re still healing._

_Don’t worry about it Emma, we’ll take care of it for you._

_Hey Emma, let me wipe your ass for you?_

Well, maybe not that last one, but this was just another variation on the same song she’d been hearing for the last year from various people along the way. Poor little human breaks so easy and needs to be protected. Killian had been the first to treat her as capable when her life changed, but even he succumbed to the careful handling.

And she was stuck in it until she stopped having panic attacks.

Because they were right.

She _hated_ that.

Maybe she would call Ruby, just to take her mind off things for an hour or two. Living at Brookside was great as the Pack mostly left her alone, but that meant she was mostly alone. Emma had been missing the quick affection and easy touches of her friend. She wanted to reach out to her more, but with Graham finally getting his head out of his ass Emma felt like she was interrupting. It was made worse because she couldn’t make it up to Graham herself; Emma still couldn’t be hugged by him, they had only worked up to light pecks on the cheek. Their phone calls or video calls had become stilted.

No, Ruby would have to wait. There was another call she should make.

After breakfast.

* * *

“I just don’t know what to do. I know I’m right, but I know he’s right too. I don’t want to push him too far cause I might push him away, but if something doesn’t give soon I’m not sure I could handle the hold out. It feels stagnant. _I_ feel stagnant.”

Doc Hopper scribbled notes on his pad. Which, regardless of what he said or what she snuck a peek at, always felt like instant judgement. “Actually Emma, you sound like you’re healing and progressing well. No one can make you want more for yourself, and you’re demanding it from others to help yourself along. I could suggest that maybe your stubborn streak might be rushing the results, but I don’t see how wanting to move on is a bad thing. I doubt Killian does either, but as your mate, he might be too close to the situation to be objective. You’d be surprised how much consent is required in this world you’ve fallen into. You have to consent to being a mate; it doesn’t just happen. You have to consent to the vampire entering your home; they can’t just waltz in. The list goes on. For Killian, your blackouts signify an inability to fully consent. Think of it like being drunk and asking him for intercourse, if he went along with it, he would be taking advantage of your altered state. Because he cares for you, he won’t be able to do that. His wolf cares for you on its own and wouldn’t let Killian if he tried.”

“So… what? I’m just supposed to wait it out? What if I never get better? These reactions could be a permanent thing.”

“Yes, they could be. There’s a chance you’ll have to figure out new ways of living if your old and current methods aren’t helping you anymore. As far as never getting better, well that’s relative isn’t it? You’ve had marked progress since deciding to stay at Brookside. More since you and Killian began dating. That question is really about perspective. But you won’t notice anything if you keep expecting to be the same you were before your first encounter. You can’t go back to who you were just equipped with new information. Your world has changed Emma, there isn’t any changing it back.”

Emma pouted. She knew these things; she understood these things. But how was she to communicate that she wasn’t looking for those things, she just needed something a touch familiar to remind her that however much things had changed, she was still Emma.

“I think I’m starting to see the reason for this.” Emma’s head shot up, wondering if she had said anything out loud, but Doc Hopper continued on with a gentle smile. “No you didn’t say that out loud, and no I can’t read minds. I’m trained for this, remember?” Emma felt her shoulders relax a bit. “This is good actually. This is a new layer we’ve stumbled into.” His smile beamed. “See? Progress.”

Emma smiled. His happy eagerness was always a little infectious. “Alright Doc, what new layer did we pull away?”

“Well telling you won’t do any good.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not being cheeky, but you tend to accept things better when you’ve learned them on your own. I’m aware how much it drives you crazy when others know it before you, so I’ll give a little bit, but each new thing we find will be because you’ve done the work to find it and explore it. Ok?”

“I’d accuse you of trying to milk me for my money, but I’m not paying you.”

His smile got bigger. “Nope, you’re not. Which means you’re going to have to believe that I’m in this to actually help you.”

“Ok. Lead on Obi Wan.”

Doc Hopper laughed. “Oh I don’t think I’m that good. But thanks for the compliment. To tell the truth, I think you already know this layer you’ve brought to light. You might just be having trouble articulating it. So what I’m going to do is bring this session to a close and give you some homework.”

“Are you serious?”

“Or we could skip the homework and have this whole thing take longer to get through… I was just under the impression you wanted to try speeding up your progress.”

“Ugh… fine.”

“Great. Now. From what I’m hearing, it isn’t a problem with your environment anymore. You’ve accepted your new home and mate, but something is still missing. You need to figure out what that is–“

“Sex Doc. I’m missing sex.”

He laughed again. “Perhaps. Or maybe it’s something sex signifies. Or maybe you’re falling back on sex to avoid something else. You’ve fixated on sex for a reason, what you have to do is figure out what that reason is.” She opened her mouth and he held up a hand. “And don’t say orgasms, because you could manage those to your utmost satisfaction all on your own.”

Emma mumbled, “More fun with someone though.”

Do Hopper chuckled, but otherwise kept quiet.

Emma sighed. “What if I’m wrong?”

“Then it’s one less thing to work through later and we just try again. I would recommend going back to New York for a week or so. Granny’s or Trinity North. Reacquaint yourself with what was and compare it to what is. Find the changed pieces, and maybe you’ll find the missing pieces. From there we can work on adjusting what we can, and learning to cope with what we can’t. Besides, from what I hear, Brookside took on a new Changeling that’s proving to be difficult. Perfect time to take a vacation.”

“Yeah Killian mentioned that, said that he was asked to help out and that I would be staying here.”

Doc Hopper furrowed his brow. “Do you want to stay here?”

Emma shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a choice.”

The doc shifted. “Well I know Snow and David requested to have you out of harm’s way until control could be established, but that could be here at the farmhouse with Killian or up with the Nomads. Even back in New York. I don’t know what conversation David an Killian had, but erring on their side because I know they don’t wish you harm, it was likely just assumed you’d be more comfortable here because you ran here so much in the beginning. However, if you want to go somewhere else, that’s your call and I’ll support it. Do you have a preference?”

Emma shrugged again. “Like I said, didn’t know I had a choice. Could I have some time to think about it? I do miss Ruby and Granny, but I hurt Graham when a visit is managed. I don’t mean to, but I know I do. I’m scared of going back and nothing would be different from when I was last there. I don’t want to hurt him like that again.”

“I see. That’s a fear only you can face Emma, and only you would know when you’re capable of it or decide if it was a bad decision. I can tell you that Alpha Humbert wants nothing more than for you to be happy and healthy Even if you were to go and still panic, he would only hurt because you were hurting first. I could go with you if that would make you feel better? A neutral third party that he wouldn’t feel the urge to get territorial with. At least then you would know how that part of you has progressed.”

“If it has at all.” Emma mumbled.

“Which is fine if it hasn’t Emma. Yours is a long road of recovery, and not one you can advance all together. Some portions have to take a side seat so others can be dealt with. Now, none this isn’t something to decide right now. I would say you should return to New York soon, but it doesn’t have to be right away. And if you want me to come with you as an initial buffer –because I won’t be your crutch– I’ll clear up my schedule for whenever you want to see that through. Any trip will have to be discussed with David and Snow because protocol would have them making the arrangements for your visit to New York. And you’ll have to tell Killian because if you really want to push for a deeper relationship with him, you can’t be cutting him out of important moments. I’m not saying you need his permission, but you disappearing on him probably isn’t the best of ideas.”

“Not like he wouldn’t be able to track me down.”

“True, but you know what he was like when you were taken the last time. You’ve heard the stories.”

“Only partially. Killian gave me the soft version, and no one else will say anything.”

“I see.” Doc Hopper scribbled again on his pad of paper. “Well that might be something he’s still coming to terms with. And something you’ll have to get him to talk about on his own. I can only help as far as I’m allowed, and werewolves are notorious for keeping such things to themselves. It would be an exposed weakness, and that goes against their fundamental brain functions. As his mate, it would be viewed as another string in that bond between you.”

Emma looked to the doc, “Who do they go to then if not you or someone like you?”

“You know of ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’ wolves yes? Passive and aggressive in each respect. Occasionally, a passive-aggressive wolf is created when they take on the Change. Basically, they aren’t submissive, but they don’t thump their chests to prove anything either. They become calm and quietly coercive. This influences the nearby wolves to back down rather than to chest up and meet the aggression. The wolf will lower its guard and allow the man to communicate more. I don’t know if you remember the woman Belle? She was the one that ran in during Killian’s hearing to help contain him after he lost it. She’s the passive-aggressive sort.”

Oh. _Oh_. Well that made that piece of the puzzle fit better than Killian’s quiet chuckle to Emma’s first inquisition. “Should he be seeing her if he’s not dealing either?”

Doc Hopper stilled for a beat and Emma wondered if she just made a colossal mistake. “Do you think he’s not ok?”

“I mean… I dunno. But if you say he had a hard time while I was gone and needed her to just get through the trial… I’m just curious what to do in case he’s hiding his problems because he thinks he needs to take care of me.”

“I see. No, I don’t see cause for worry Emma. Not yet anyway.” Emma jerked her head to him again, his finger tapping his nose to indicate he picked up on the scent change. “This isn’t you getting him in trouble. Killian Jones is a strong wolf, him losing control or having problems maintaining control is a problem for everyone. With you right in the middle. He won’t hurt you, but he could go overboard trying to protect you. I won’t report this or anything like that, and I’ll take what you said as just general curiosity about new information. But I need you to promise that if he starts to get out of hand, or his behavior starts to go sideways, you’ll say something to me. Not just David or Robin or Graham to help him out of The Council’s purview. We’ve brought him back from the brink a few times early on in his Change, we would have better success at getting him back to rights.”

Emma nodded, not really wanting to verbally commit to anything.

Doc Hopper turned his mouth down, knowing the silent confirmation for what it was. “Right. Well. Our time is up for now. Thank you for calling me over this attack. I know you don’t like having sessions, and like it less that I’m Council. But you put your well-being over your pride, that’s the biggest jump in progress you’ve had so far. Let me know what you decide as far as getting out of town?”

“Yeah Doc. I’ll call.”

Emma walked Doc Hopper to the front door of Killian’s home; she still had trouble thinking of it as her home even when Killian had started calling it that two months ago. Sessions were held here lately, as privacy could be maintained easier and Killian had his assurances that she was still getting help. All around it was a win. The sessions weren’t truly as bad as she led Doc Hopper to believe, but she just couldn’t seem to shake the need to make everyone see it that way. It was probably a leftover concept she had picked up from the childhood sessions she was forced into after her first bad home. Hell it could be a great many things, she wasn’t the head shrink that could figure it out.

The knock at the door was nearly missed as Emma was wandering back to what was considered her bedroom, a low and a single stern rap against the wood. Emma backtracked and opened it before she really thought about it, assuming the easy answer right away.

“Forget something again Doc–“ Emma blinked. “Regina?”

“Well I’m certainly not that shifting bug.” She sniffed discreetly, “But I can see why you would have thought that I could be. Impromptu session? Is everything alright?”

Emma gaped her mouth for a moment before she managed to collect herself. “Uh… yeah. Everything’s fine. Just another panic attack and Killian feels better if I seek help after them. Is there something I can help you with?”

Regina stood prim and proper, hardly seeming to breathe. “Well you could invite me inside so we can have a polite conversation like civilized people.”

Emma shuffled backwards, opening the door along the way, “You call that polite and civilized?”

Regina didn’t respond with anything other than a raised eyebrow as she strolled her way into the living room. Without surprise, Regina found the one chair with semi-rigidity to the back to sit in, converting the old thing almost to a throne for her ladyship. Emma wasn’t in much of a mood to cater to the woman’s inflated sense of self –no matter how much it might be well deserved– so she did the opposite and draped herself over the couch, posing in nearly a rude manner just to see if the woman would flinch.

Of course Regina didn’t.

“Alright Regina, what are you here for?”

“I was told you had questions regarding being a mate. Snow wasn’t available, and there’s not much you’d be able to get out of Ms. Lucas now that she’s helping run that pack. But in all fairness, both of them have doe eyes regarding the position. Mary Margaret would have you believing it was one of those fairy tale stories where you and your mate are actually soulmates long destined to be together. I offer a unique perspective where my former mate and I were coerced into a mating that neither of us wanted.”

Emma sighed and rolled her shoulders, slumping into the couch she had only just left with Doc Hopper. “I’ve been told what is expected in general by you and others. I’ve been told by Killian what he’s _not_ expecting due to situations being what they are. I’ve been told a few tales where mates do things to hurt each other, where mates rely on the bond so much they end up suffering physically if the distance is too great, and of course all the happy endings I could stand. I don’t doubt your ‘unique perspective’, but how much more is there to tell me about the same thing I’ve been hearing about for months?”

Regina’s lips pursed. “Not much apparently, but obviously still more if I’ve been asked to come around and add to the pile.”

Emma rolled her eyes, “Could it wait? I’m a bit talked out for the moment.”

“Of course it could.” Emma sat up to walk Regina back out only to be halted once more. “But I won’t. I don’t make house calls for just anyone Miss Swan.” Emma groaned. “I will however make you a deal. I won’t tell you about my first mate, not yet anyway. Tell me what you’ve learned about the bond itself, not how it affected others or how others use it. What do you know about it directly?”

Emma shrugged. “Wolf magic, it connects two people on a psychic level. They become empathetic to each other to a severe degree. It lasts until one of the pair dies.”

Regina arched a brow. “Well, you’re not wrong. But that’s the most basic recounting of it I’ve ever heard. The truth is, no bond is the same. It’s what you said it was, but the empathy you spoke of has varying degrees of intensity and direction. It also isn’t a psychic link, though I can’t fault you that association since it’s the same basic principle. What you’ve missed, is that the bond can affect your way of thinking. Depending on the direction and intensity, the bond can change you into an entirely new person. It’s a Change all on its own. And being human, it’s more like Russian Roulette on how it affects you.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Regina waved a hand, “Not that it can kill you… well, it could… but I meant that it’s usually very minimal with the occasional human getting the full payload like a wolf would without the installed abilities to deal with it –like a wolf would.”

Emma gave her a blank stare, “Ok… thanks for extra info?”

Regina took a turn rolling her eyes. “Ok, we’ll try a different method. Tell me about your bond.”

Emma blinked. “I… don’t know? I haven’t really thought about it.”

“You mean you haven’t noticed any changes? At all?”

“I mean, I know I can tell when Killian is coming home, and I can usually sense where he is within a few hundred yards. He’s been showing me how to use it to track him, and giving me pointers on tracking wolves in general. Sometimes I’ll get feelings from him, but those are muted, and never anything negative. It mostly just feels like what _humans_ call a long-term relationship.”

“You two are anything but long-term Miss Swan, but moving on. When you think of the bond, what image comes to mind?”

“Again… what?”

Regina sighed. “Some see it as a rope; some see it as a stream of water. I know one woman who pictured Christmas garland. What is it that your mind comes up with?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well when you track him in the woods, you can’t tell me a woman of your background just follows instinct blindly through the forest. What are you following? It doesn’t matter what it is.”

Emma rolled her shoulders, not sure if she wanted to share even if she was certain it was the right answer. “What do you see?”

“This isn’t about me Miss Swan.” Emma budged only to cross her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. I see arrows. And endless volley of arrows leading into my chest.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Into?”

Regina nodded. “The bond –for me– has always been strongest on Robin’s end, so it flows to me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a healthy mentality.”

“I can see how others would think that. Arrows are weapons, even Cupid’s arrows sting on impact. It could be seen as hurt and pain coming to me. But remember, this is my perception of it. Robin is _the_ Robin Hood, so arrows aren’t a far off idea. For a long time, I wasn’t a good person, so even if it actually caused pain I think it’s a fair price to pay in return for all he gives me. But also…” Regina took a breath, “Also, after everything, I don’t feel worthy of love. The bond flowing into me is the magic telling me his love still comes my way. Every arrow is from him, so as long as it flows my way, I’m assured that this mating isn’t one sided.”

Emma popped a brow, “The magic tells you?”

“Magic isn’t sentient. Think of it more as a sophisticated and well-developed computer. It can only do what it’s programmed to, but it can be programmed to do many things. When the bond established between Robin and I, my anxieties and fears were taken into account as much as everything else. My first mate and I weren’t in love and could barely stand each other. I needed to know that this mate loved me. Are you keeping up so far?”

“I think so… the bond is like installing a program into your brain that both reads your mind and can later corrupt the existing files?”

“I don’t remember that flair for the dramatic from when you had your stay with us… if that isn’t the bond channeling Killian through you, then you’ve been spending too much time with him.” Emma raised both brows this time. “But yes, to put it in scary sci-fi terms. Now even though you haven’t been thinking about it, what do you see when you track Killian?”

“I really don’t know! I didn’t know to be looking for anything let alone trying to figure out some symbolism. I would just focus on him and follow my feet.”

“Ok. Do it now.”

“What?”

“Do it now. See if you can’t figure out what direction he’s in.”

“But he’s miles away over at Brookside. I can’t track him that far.”

“I didn’t say track him. That implies an end point. I just want you to use the bond like a compass, get a sense of the general direction you’d need to go to begin tracking him.”

“But…”

“Now Emma.”

Emma’s mouth thinned. “Fine.”

With eyes closed, Emma’s forehead scrunched as she balled her hands into fists. Regina was silent in the chair, which only focused Emma’s mind in her direction rather in Killian’s. Minutes passed before Emma huffed out a breath.

“See? I can’t do it.”

“If I might make a few suggestions?” Emma waved her hand through the air with obvious sarcasm. “First, thinking about your mate bond isn’t the same as an extreme bowel movement. It just requires thought, not physical exertion. Second, you were thinking about me not Killian. A bit difficult to get the mate bond to look for him when your attention was over my way.”

A sardonic smirk curved Emma’s mouth. “Maybe I’m more into you than him.”

“While I wouldn’t fault you for that if it were true, you reek of Jones and have since long before he ate your stalker. And it’s more than of just simple proximity.”

“I what?”

Regina waved her hands like she was swatting flies. “That’s another lesson entirely. And I, for the record, wouldn’t give up Robin even if he died. So your little quip would be filed under never-going-to-happen.” Emma blinked at her, “What? You think you’re the first woman to look this way? Child please. Now, I need you to think of Killian. His hair, the color of his eyes. The color his eyes take when he shifts, the sound of his voice. Think of the way he smells fresh from the shower, or fresh from a run. Think of your last date, think of the first time you knew there was a connection between you. Think of the way his wolf walks with you, of the feel of his fur. When you have him in your head, open your eyes and look forward.”

Emma sat for a few minutes thinking of the man who literally carried her from death with snarky remarks the first time they met. She thought of the wolf who was the gentlest creature she’d ever met. She thought of the swirling eyes that should scare her, but only reminded her that he descended into his own personal hell because of her… for her; that while he could be of two minds on anything or everything, he only had one concept to go by when it came to her.

His voice filtered through her head like a memory, saying only one word, but one that made her feel warm and safe.

_Mine._

Her eyes opened.

“I don’t see anything Regina.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, nothing is different. No yellow brick road, no bread crumbs. Just the same living room with the sun setting in my face.”

“I beg your pardon?” Emma blinked against the light, tilting her head down and away. Quicker than the next flutter of her eyelids, Regina’s hand was gripping Emma’s chin and forcing it back into the sunset. “No, don’t move. You said the sun was setting?”

“Yeah and it’d be nice not to burn out my corneas today. I don’t heal like you guys do.”

“Stand up, but don’t look away from it. We’re going to walk out the front door and check out the sun.”

“Regina…”

“Argue later Miss Swan.”

Emma glared at the light streaming through the window, already dreading the light spots she’d be seeing in her sleep days from now. Her focus on it dimmed the rest of the room to deep shades of gray. Out the front door, the golden hues blazed orange at the fringes, but the firm grip came back to Emma’s chin to hold it in position.

“Ok Emma, as hard as this might be with your minimal education, I need you to think. What time is it right now?”

“About five or so in the afternoon. W–“

“A bit early for a sunset this time of year isn’t it? Now. This is the general direction to Brookside, meaning we are facing southeast. Let me know when you catch up.”

Emma scrunched her nose. Yes it was hours before the sun was supposed to go down, but summer was coming to a close soon anyway. Emma wasn’t sure what the big deal was; just the sun setting.

In the southeast.

“Wait…”

“That actually worries me how long it took you Miss Swan. The sun is actually where it should be. What you see? That’s your tether to The Captain. At least, how it’s manifesting right now. It can change over time, not dramatically, but it’ll refine as the tie gets stronger. He’s too far away to look for the actual bond between you, but what you see right now is him. A bright and blinding sunset. Probably good that Archie isn’t here to analyze that bit of information. If you want to let it go, you can close your eyes and turn away. It can be mentally straining to hold onto the bond for too long.”

Emma ducked her head, warmth still hitting her skin from the light she’d been staring into. Well… thought she had been staring into. A phone rang somewhere briefly before Emma was ready to reopen her eyes. Regina answered and spoke in clipped tones, barely able to form a handful of words before she cut off to listen to the other end and start the attempt over again. It wasn’t long before a cellular phone was thrust into one of Emma’s hands just to have it raised to her ear for her.

“Emma? Sweetheart are you alright?” Killian’s voice was tightly wound; she could almost hear _Zuul_ coming out at the seams.

“What? Yeah I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her eyes still felt like they were burning.

“Lie.”

“What?”

“Emma I can feel you. You reached out to me when you shouldn’t have been able to, and now I can feel you in pain. What’s going on?”

“Regina was showing me how to find our bond thing like it was something tangible. What I found was very bright, and now my eyes hurt like I stared too long at a lightbulb.”

Killian was silent a moment before his voice came back quieter, though nowhere near calmer. “I see. I’m coming home. We’ll discuss what you found then. Have a lie down on my bed; make the place dark. Just because what you saw wasn’t technically real, doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you all the same. Regina? I’m going to require an audience with you, your Highness.”

The call ended.

Emma looked to Regina, whose face had turned cold in its expression. “What was that all about?”

“The older you get Miss Swan, the more titles you acquire in lieu of your given name. He was alluding to one of mine. And not one I enjoy remembering. He was telling me that we are at odds for the time being.”

“For helping me like he asked?”

Regina’s eyes met Emma’s, and though Emma knew she should avert her own, something was pushing her to hold ground. “What he was hoping I’d accomplish is now a question only he can answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologizing now for chapter 5. No idea when it'll be available. But I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


	5. Moving Forward Sets Us Back

Mr. Gold’s guest, as it turned out, was the High Chair of The Council. Belle had no knowledge of the woman’s real name, only that she desired to be called Blue when in informal settings, and Belle had no desire to ever hold the woman’s True Name in her head. Still, the last thing Belle had thought to see on this side of the world was the woman who was technically her boss sitting to tea with the man who was… technically her boss. Seeing it faltered her step for only a moment, rattling the tea cart only just, but enough to catch the attention of both the overly powerful Fae sitting in the room designated to be the parlor. If you could call his index finger twitching and her ear tilting a “catch of attention”, as neither deigned to look her way. A minor thing, but a slipup still and a slip Belle shouldn’t have done; one she couldn’t really afford given present company.

Fae politics and etiquette were convoluted and intricate, much like royal court of ages passed. More intrigue than any day time soap opera, and more death than the Scottish Play and Hamlet played out a thousand times each. And all brushed away and forgotten in their minds before the consequences could be a glimmer of reality. The savagery was enough to make even the slyest of werewolves sick to their stomach. For Belle, she was in the worst of it. She had to answer to both, feign loyalty to one, when neither truly held any authority over her.

Given the power play sitting down to tea, she had hoped that Mr. Gold would continue his usual lack of attention and penchant for having her serve more as maid than assistant, thus allowing her to hide out in the kitchens during their “talk”–or at the very least a dark corner out of either of their eye lines. But Mr. Gold had other ideas as Belle finished serving the unusual smelling tea (it was herbal to be sure, but there was strong magic laced within) to both the Fae.

“Miss Belle,” _Miss Belle indeed… he’s fooling no one with that sweet tone._ “Madame Blue here was wondering how you’ve been fairing in your new position with me; she has some concerns with you being so far from home.”

Belle stood as primly as she could, hands clasped in front of her with shoulders squared. “I won’t lie, I miss home. Wolves are territorial and I’m nowhere near mine. But working with Mr. Gold has given me access to many things I wouldn’t have back in my Pack, in the States, or even in my land of birth. I’m glad to be here for the time being.”

Mr. Gold smiled something lecherous, “There you see? She enjoys her time with me. You shouldn’t second guess your decision in letting me have her as compensation for letting The Captain go unpunished.”

Blue arched a brow; first at Gold, but it remained as her cold face turned to Belle. “Time being? Do you mean to say that you don’t plan on this being a permanent position?”

Games or not, Mr. Gold’s words were unsettling. Which, while his likely intention, served to inform Belle that she had been given away as a prize. Unless it was an agreed upon bargain, set to assuage Mr. Gold illicitly, an “easy in” as it were. Belle felt the stirrings of a headache, Fae politics were so full of twists and turns. “I doubt I could remain here extensively in a way that would benefit a long-lived Fae like Mr. Gold. Wolves might live long in our own right, but without the tether of home to fortify us, we become weak and insane.”

Blue’s face remained impassive, almost bored and unhearing of Belle’s admission, yet Gold’s eyes were brimming with barely held aggression. Belle wasn’t going to attempt to understand this byplay or her part in it. Even before she was Changed, Belle preferred open honesty to courtly games of intrigue. Here, all she had with her were the tools Merlin had told her to keep handy; her bloody wits against ageless manipulators of the highest order.

Mr. Gold sniffed, succumbing to derision instead of anger. “Yes well. Can’t say as I would tolerate you staying too long, the stench of dog will take three times as long to remove from the fabrics and linens of my home. In the interim, why don’t you make yourself useful and make a room up for our guest? She’s decided to stay the night and check on your well-being without my observation. She seems to think I abuse my staff.”

Belle ignored the insults for the blessed dismissal to do anything anywhere else. With a micro curtsy and a quiet “Yes sir”, Belle was rushing to the wing where guests were to be kept. Hoping that Blue would manage to relay some news during the night, or the very least, take a few letters home for her to let a few loved ones know she was doing ok in tones they’d understand. She didn’t trust the letters sent home with Mr. Gold’s knowledge, those were structured and plain to avoid him coming to some wild conclusion about her post with him, or her personal attachments to anyone else. She longed for just a touch of technology to help ease the separation from the people she normally called hers, but the most she could achieve would be the solace of the library under the guise of sorting his schedule for the next two weeks.

The tasks weren’t as simple as she had originally thought, but she enjoyed the challenge of balancing the duties of the man to the dealings of the Fae. Mr. Gold ran several businesses alongside his Fae transactions, and given some of the cliental she’d met from both sides of that coin… she discovered she couldn’t fault his nasty personality entirely. He was still offensive to her regardless of his patrons or schedule, so her self-induced reward at the end of the day was always the same; tea purchased from a local vendor, a corner in the library with pillows and a throw blanket, and a book older than her. And should tonight end up the same as any other, with Blue holding to the indifferent behavior she had entered the castle with, Belle would count herself fortunate.

* * *

Morning was a streak of white light blinding Belle’s eyes through her lids. It was a stiff back having slept in an upright and curled position. It was legs too long cut off from proper circulation and tingling with the restored blood flow. It was a wet stain of drool on her right sleeve with a string of it still connected to her lips. It was a shift and a groan as she berated herself internally for falling asleep in yet another library.

“Good to see you’ve rejoined the living Miss Belle. I hope I haven’t disturbed your rest, what with all the hard work you do lounging about my castle and all.”

It was her angry employer/assignment.

Belle straightened her back, not yet trusting her legs to hold her up after being curled up underneath her for so long. “Mr. Gold! My apologies. I must have nodded off last night after I completed my duties.”

He hummed, somehow making the sound sneer at her all on its own. “You spend quite a lot of time here Miss Belle, am I safe in assuming you have a strong affinity for literature?”

“You would. If it’s a problem…”

He waved her off as his eyes scanned the room. “So long as you don’t destroy my things, I don’t see a problem with you using this room as your own.” He turned in his spot, taking time to really examine the space she had lovingly cleared. “Did you really take this room into order from top to bottom?”

Belle cleared the morning from her throat. “I did, and before you ask, I took a catalog of everything in here. The inventory was placed in your office. Anything that was destroyed due to age or otherwise was placed in a large trunk and was relocated to your main study for your perusal. The only trash collected and removed was general debris normally found in libraries.”

“Such as?”

“Dust mostly, book ribbons long since torn off and mere threads, the occasional dead spider or rodent.”

“Did you find any rags in this room while you were cleaning?”

His voice held a strange tone, swimming with too many emotions for Belle to properly discern. “I did. But I placed them with the trunk. I can never be sure what might hold some value to you, so I left them for you to decide. I would have done the same with the dead animals, but I’m sure you can enchant a rat on a whim if you really needed one.”

The man hummed and took a few paces away, still studying the room and leaving Belle to finally have the space to stand up. Her legs had stopped with the pinpricks and moved onto the waves of warm and cold as her blood flow returned to normal. As quickly as she could, she reset her braid into a low ponytail, hoping to look slightly more presentable without her hair a tangled riot about her head.

“It’s satisfactory. Among your regular duties, I’d like you to take on other rooms that are in a similar state as you found this one. I’m old and have collected many things in my time; sadly, many of them have become misplaced.” Belle was ready to interject when he continued. “As a reward, this room can be yours. The contents within are mine, but you’re free to use this room as you like. And as it will be yours, it’ll be your decision who may pass through that threshold. Even I will abide unless there is something in here I require and you are not here to grant me passage or fetch it for me.”

He turned to face her, face expectant for her compliance, and if she had been paying attention she would have seen the anxiety for her answer written all over his upper body. But her mind was frozen to the gift he had just given her. She knew she should be wary, it was a saying likely as old as him (likely because of him) to beware of fairy gifts. But this room was keeping madness at bay and now it was hers. She almost shrugged the consequences away, too stunned to care and her wolf all too happy to have a den to hide away in. But Belle was never a stupid woman.

“I’d prefer to go over the particulars of that deal later, when I’m more collected.” His face turned down so she rushed ahead. “But I’m appreciative for the gesture. Can we call it a soft agreement until details can be discussed?”

His eyes glinted with something akin to approval. “But of course dearie. Go on about your regular rituals, we’ll talk more after supper tonight.”

Dismissed, Belle moved quickly to her rooms to wash and change to her working clothes. There was a smile on her face, one that she had become to think a ghost to her expressions. One that had been caused by a Fae occasionally called The Dark One. But that wasn’t something Belle would think about. Not yet.

* * *

Cell phones were destroyed in a werewolf’s hands almost as often as clothes were during an impromptu Change. Enough so that many of the shady and skeezy looking business offering to buy your old phones were in reality (at least for the majority of the cases), fronts for werewolf packs to save money on the tech they routinely destroyed; far easier to refurbish than to buy new. Killian himself never put out for more than the simple and cheap prepaid idea of a smartphone, since his primary use had been a quick message here and there; although with Emma available to him, he was finding hearing her voice much more preferable, and those video calls more so than that. This particular moment had him thanking whatever foresight he had in such decisions, as the cheap device cracked and bent in his hand; an alternative option to ending the conversation with her Royal-Pain-in-His-Arse than simply touching the red button. Always meddling that one was, pushing her convictions on others as “enlightened” choices. As if her bad choices and harsh upbringing would be applicable life lessons to everyone. Growling deep in his throat at the damage control he now had to do, Killian made his way through the halls of Brookside. It wasn’t as if feeling Emma active and vibrant in the bond hadn’t sent a thrill along his spine, or caused his wolf to nearly erupt a howl through his very human throat. For Emma’s health and well-being, things had to happen slowly; Regina’s methods weren’t exactly subtle or tactful when she felt the solution was too simple.

He needed to get back to Emma regardless of the obligations he had made to the Alpha; not like he could make good on his promise to David in his current condition anyway. Her brief presence in the bond would only make the entire room uncomfortable anyway with his ever growing need to touch her. He slowed his steps as he tried to sort through his brain for a convincing reason to leave that wasn’t a lie –not easily done in his predicament. Everyone already assumed that these initial steps had been taken between himself and Emma, that he would have these preliminary urges under control. Untruths were easier to conceal under a blanket of half-truths or other truths, so it was just a matter of choosing which truth to tap. Claiming she was upset after her visit to the shifter named Hopper would technically be true, but might cause someone (David) to worry overly much about Emma receiving treatment from the shifter specifically. Outright blaming Regina would be more than accurate, but the backlash would come from many sides with that angle. Citing her previous few nights wouldn’t be enough reason to pull him away when others could be sent to keep her distracted for him, and claiming feeling something along the bond –while true in itself– was too close to the realities he wanted to keep hidden that he might falter and spill secrets to the wrong person.

“There’s my pretty jailer…”

Lost deep in thought, he had stopped regulating his pace and ended up exactly where he didn’t want to be. The basement cells of Brookside Manor.

“Here to watch me some more? Is that a thing you like doing? Cause I don’t mind…”

 _Really_ didn’t want to be.

“Stop talking.” It wasn’t fair of him to put as much push into his command, not really. But she had been baiting him since he took up a shift to… _bloody hell_ … watch her. Wench damn well knew he was bound to another woman, but the fact only seemed to spur her on further. As if it was a personal challenge set to her.

The caged Changeling obeyed him and stopped talking, but that didn’t stop her from trying to keep his attention as brazenly as possible. And since constant shifting between wolf and human-skin was common for Changelings, the damn thing was naked.

_Maybe brazen isn’t a strong enough word…_

He turned enough to keep her just in his line of sight. Even behind wolf-strong bars, he didn’t trust his back to her. The rough static of palms rubbing skin mingled with the sinuous movements as she twisted herself, irritating both halves of him to renewed madness. The woman was beautiful, make no mistake, and would have been exactly his type little more than a year ago. But that was when all he required of a woman was the thrill of temporary company. Here and now, with Emma fresh on the bond, his wolf recoiled to being in the same room with her. He knew he could face her down, show his anger and force her to stop her antics, ultimately giving her the satisfaction that she had gotten under his skin. Or he could mask it all under dismissive boredom, but then the base truth would be that Killian Jones had watched the woman touch herself to completion (because she was exactly the type to take it all the way and then two leagues too far) and that wasn’t something he could stomach admitting to Emma; no matter the circumstances. If he turned his back and kept her chaste to his eyes, the woman would only take that as a victory and consider herself more dominant than him. Even in the chosen compromise of keeping her in his peripherals gave her a small win; he was still able to see her, and to her mind it amounted to restrained interest. She was a creature that shouldn’t have ever been Changed, not with so many unresolved issues still larking about her brain. It was going to take three times as long to just get her wolf to allow help before any real work could be started.

Softs moans entered the room, quick breaths and increased pheromones tickled his senses. Again he was faced with an impossible choice: force her to stop and let her know she was affecting him, or remain stoic and let her think he wanted what she was doing. Either decision would amount to a problematic female. Though as things progressed, he increasingly felt if he had to explain this to Emma, it would be easier to explain his silence than let this Changeling believe it had a modicum of dominance over him. So silent he remained.

When the sounds of moving wet flesh took over her area of the basement however, Killian decided enough was enough and moved to the intercom to call for David. Her laughter at him was a cross between triumphant and manic. His wolf wanted to force her submission, not used to being so openly challenged. Even Walsh had respected the natural order. But this woman wasn’t one of his, and he wasn’t about to put the idea in her head that she had a shot at even being Packmate, let alone _his_ mate. In fact it was the perfect answer for his current needs, this creature was giving him the best reason to leave early with her bizarre behavior.

The intercom buzzed and cracked before Killian spoke through it, old technology that it was barely clinging to usefulness. “David? Do you hear me mate?”

There was an extended pause before it crack in response. “Well hot damn… I don’t think we’ve used these things since the late 1990’s. Nice to know they still work in a pinch; what’s up?”

“A few things I wouldn’t prefer to say over such an open connection. Foremost would be your newest tenant requiring her Alpha to remind her of propriety.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve finally found someone who can make you blush?”

“Fairly certain this one could make Scarlet flush before he got into enough liquor to change his mind.”

David chuckled on the other end, “And you think I want to walk in that room?”

“Just get your charming arse down here.”

His continued chuckles lost their soft edges, “Easy Captain. My house remember?”

“Technically, it’s Snow’s house.” Killian took a breath, forcing his temper down. “But I meant no offense, just emphasizing the need for haste over banter.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Killian rested against the farthest wall he could find, wondering how much Lance’s sudden unavailability was due to this female. The bond between him and Emma was throbbing with her activity. She was trying to find it again, giving it both renewed vitality and deeper roots in her soul. He wished he could revel in it. Take the joy that was supposed to follow her tentative touches. Instead he stared blindly down to his chest, hating himself for taking pleasure from Emma when she couldn’t possibly give it freely. He hated the surge of strength and pride his wolf had for its chosen mate. He hated his body for pulsing blood and firing off his nerve endings, needing to touch her and hold her for her efforts.

“Yeeeessss…. I can smell you. Why hold yourself away? Nothing wrong with two adults finding release inside each other…”

He hated Emma’s bloody timing.

The woman was moving over herself with renewed energy, taking his reaction to Emma’s fumbling’s on the bond as a reaction to the lengthy masturbation session. Madness inked his vision, torn between his sensations of Emma (torn for that as well) and desiring to inflict pain on the creature polluting them. It was a vicious cycle between him and the caged female; his madness grew as she got closer to completion, and she soared closer to her finish with each drop of sanity he lost. Her shrieks of achieved orgasm drowned out Killian’s own howls of rage, so neither heard David enter the basement level. Both panting as they tried to collect their respective minds, neither could sense David’s approach.

Whatever ire Killian was bathing in held no candles to the fury David brought with him into that room. Eyes bright and golden against a stone face. The woman in the cage tried to hold her gaze against David, managing to notch her chin higher for a brief moment. Killian would have appreciated the spine in her if she hadn’t just channeled her inner exhibitionist. Still she crumbled under the Alpha’s authority, showing her neck and ducking her head before curling up into fetal position.

“Stay.” David’s command holding enough dominance that even Killian was struggled to readjust his reclined spot. David’s hand reached around the back of Killian’s neck, forcibly moving him to walk out the door and down the hall. “Talk.”

“I’m not of your Pack, and she’s taking full advantage of it. There’s only so much push I can put in my control over her before I’m overstepping my grounds. If I ignore her, she pushes harder like I’m inviting it. If I make her stop, she starts the comments of her dominance because I’m emotionally affected. Literally everything I do, she twists into my latent desire for her or my impotence as a wolf. Who the bloody hell signed off on _that_ Change?”

“Will her story match yours?”

Killian stopped and met David’s eyes. “Pardon?”

A low warning rumbled form David’s throat, but Killian’s wolf was already pushed too far and wouldn’t back down to such accusations. “I asked if her story would match yours Jones.”

“Aye. I heard that part. I’m simply confused how you could assume I would be lying in the first place. Other than both of us being able to smell the bloody things.”

“I know you well enough to know you can tell the truth as well as any Fae, and to the same twisting evasions. I heard you both as I came down, it sounded mutual.”

Killian couldn’t help the roar, thankfully David had better control. “Are you barking mad? I’m bound to Emma for Christ’s sake!”

“Mates have managed to go outside the bond many times, you wouldn’t be the first.”

Killian was losing whatever control he had managed to grasp with David’s arrival. “I came in after breaking my phone in a burst of anger with Regina. The Changeling started up with the verbal taunts immediately. I was already skidding on thin ice, so I instructed her to stop talking. Using those exact words, and just those two words. So she decided a physical display would be just as effective. That’s when I reached out to you. Emma distracted me with some experimental touches to our bond and… and _that thing_ in there misinterpreted it. Zuul is ready to destroy her, and now I’ve got an Alpha pushing more buttons.”

“Ok. Now will you answer the first question?”

Killian slipped away and Zuul took over; not an enjoyable feeling from Killian’s perspective, cold rage to his burning. “Emma Swan is our chosen. Are you contesting our claim?”

David remained un-phased with the inner wolf, “Only if you’re dumb enough to seek elsewhere what is rightfully hers.”

“We know not what the Changeling will say, she is young and lies are still within her tainted blood. We refuse to maintain watch over it if we are not trusted.”

David sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Trust isn’t the issue Jones. We aren’t her first pack, and this isn’t the first time she’s pulled… this. We thought it might have been because of unmated males guarding her, and it was either one or both parties unable to control themselves. When she claimed Lance was taking advantage of her, I knew something was up. So I asked you; with you being freshly bonded, you’d be less likely to participate or she wouldn’t see you as an opening. I didn’t see her taking the information as a challenge on her abilities to coerce males. Which is why I need your words to be clear, I’m going to have to report this.” When Zuul didn’t back down, David grimaced. “And maybe I reacted heavily because it’s Emma who would suffer.”

“The Changeling’s wolf isn’t pure, it might never fully submit to anything other than Alpha or Mate. The Change should never have been offered to the female. We will help where we can, but no longer will we hold vigil. The risk to our Bond with Emma is too high.”

“Understood.”

“Further, we are discontinuing this watch to be with our Mate. She has called and we will answer.”

“Called? You said you broke your phone, how do you mean called?” Zuul, still in control, turned Killian’s body, taking them both away from the female Changeling. “Jones?” Up the stairs from the basement cells… “Killian?!”

Through the manor so that David’s final shout of, “Zuul!!” was muffled by the layers of house and décor between them. Zuul exited them both from Brookside Manor, ignoring the shouts of David’s pack trying to get his attention for their Alpha. For Zuul, nothing was more important than his mate.

* * *

Emma wasn’t exactly toiling away in the kitchen, but she was certainly putting in a decent effort. Growing up in foster homes hadn’t led to many “homemaking” skills, but living above a diner with Granny all but scowling at her in her young adulthood, Emma managed to learn the basics. Her food wasn’t half bad for mostly being the quick and easy setups one would find from a box or the frozen section. Lord knows what was currently cooking wouldn’t be enough for Killian –even if he had every last bite, but Emma figured that if one of them were to extend an olive branch and hopefully open up a door for some communication, feeding the wolfman was an easy choice. That was how the line went anyway, a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If nothing came of it, well then Emma was banking on things being in her favor because she was the one making the first move. Not entirely fair, but Emma wasn’t picky over the small things, she needed all the high ground she could get. All else failed, she’d go the known path of through Killian’s liver with the ever present rum.

There was still a residual tingling in her chest from earlier. Well… she supposed it had been there for about four months, but like a bruise or a bug bite, she hadn’t felt it until she became aware of it. And like a freshly discovered bruise or bug bite, it was at the forefront of her thoughts throughout the rest of her day. Prickling and buzzing as she went about her business. A few times she had tried to focus on it, to see what else it might do, but all she felt was surprise and anxiety in return. Ultimately, all Emma had to show for the day were more questions than she had yesterday. Food –again– was her best option to working at least a few answers from Killian. It had always been a neutral thing for them, providing a secondary focal point if things got too heavy to handle direct attention.

The tingling became a buzz just before Emma could feel Killian approaching. It was interesting, like a warning to a heads up. With her focus on it once more, it almost itched under her skin and it definitely made her stomach swoop low.

The kitchen door opened with more force than usual, causing Emma to startle. Killian was in the doorway, brow low and gaze fixated on Emma’s right hand. His head canted to the side with a flare of his nostrils, the tendons in his jaw flexing as they did when he held so very still. He looked like he braved lower Manhattan on New Year’s Eve. She was avoided looking directly into his eyes, not wanting to pile on to an obviously trying day. He wouldn’t have minded if she did, probably would have goaded her into pushing his limits more, but something was telling Emma to hold back on that right now.

His voice came a few notches lower than normal, “Are you planning to attack us with the spatula?”

Emma looked where his eyes hadn’t left. Her right hand was clutching the kitchen tool with white knuckles, and held back like a club. She huffed out a breath, forcing her shoulders to relax and turning down the stove so the food wouldn’t burn. “You startled me.”

The door closed, the lock clicked. Not a step Killian took normally, but not one Emma paid any attention to either. Slow, and slightly heavy footfalls marked his approach. He hated anything that might cause a relapse, and always took that extra measure to avoid it; it would be ridiculous if Emma wasn’t enamored with the gesture. Or maybe it was a little ridiculous, Emma hadn’t made up her mind on it yet.

His steps stopped at the island behind her, “You’re cooking.”

Emma hummed her affirmative. “You made breakfast, so it’s kinda my turn. I know it isn’t enough to make you full, but I haven’t mastered cooking for a small army yet.” She moved things around the stove, nearly ready to plate their dinner. She could feel him staring at her, and not because of some weird wolf-bond magic. She turned around, “Points for effort?”

Honestly it was her own fault. She hadn’t been paying attention to him at all. The eyes she saw were his pale white, spots of blue forming before getting swallowed into the wolf’s color, just to show again somewhere else; bubbles rising and popping on the milky surface. He had said “us” earlier, and she hadn’t thought to extend the grouping to Zuul. His zeroed in focus to her should have been another mark in the “duh” column, but she hadn’t been paying attention to that either. She dropped her eyes to his collarbone, hoping it would help him settle. Her luck being what it was today, it of course had the opposite effect, eliciting a healthy growl from him. She couldn’t help the flinch, which only increased his volume.

“Playing meek to slake our anger is not in your nature, Emma. That is _his_ conditioning resurfacing; we will not have it.”

Her eyes snapped back up. “Something is bothering _Killian_ so much that _you_ came out, and _you’re_ upset that _I’m_ sympathetic to it?”

His eyes danced in return, “You smell of fear.”

Emma gestured to the kitchen door, “Cause you barged through a little harsher than normal! And it’s not like I’ve had a relaxing day either, how can you blame me for a natural reaction?”

He stepped forward, an eyebrow slinking up into a wonderful arch. “We know what day you’ve had. You reached out to us, played with ropes and ties you shouldn’t have been playing with yet.”

“The hell are you talking about? Ropes and ties? And according to Regina, I should have known how to reach out to you a long time ago.”

Another step, forcing Emma to step away to avoid getting stepped on. “Her Majesty knows nothing of what is ours Emma.” He moved forward again, side stepping slightly to force Emma to mirror by default. “You are not yet ready for what is ours.”

“Could you kindly let Killian back in the driver’s seat? He’s not as blunt, but he makes a lot more sense.”

“We are one Emma, you speak as much to him now as the wolf. You know this.”

“Yeah, but when you drive things are a bit intense. How do you expect me to calm down when you’re stalking me like food right now?”

His mouth turned feral in its smile, too much teeth to match the predator in his eyes. “Maybe I’m hungry…”

Emma backed into the table. “Yeah ok. Dinner’s on the stove. Have it all. I’ll scrounge something later. Or you know, go back out and find yourself a nice fat moose.”

“I could. But why would I walk away from the meal in front of me?”

“Then eat it and stop being weird Zuul.”

His head tilted again as he scented the air. “It smells delicious…”

Emma glanced at the stove. “It’s just from a box…”

Emma shouldn’t have looked away from Killian. He was immediately in front of her in that moment, his hands resting on the table as they caged her hips, his body avoiding contact but only barely. His breath warmed her neck and cheek as he nuzzled each, making her pulse pick up eliciting a chuckle deep in his throat.

“We don’t speak of the food Emma.”

Zuul was behaving in direct opposition to what Killian had been doing for the last few months and it was damn well too much for Emma today. She leaned backwards more –as much as her back would allow without laying down– grabbed his chin and pushed him away –as much as he would allow. Which meant no more than returning to an upright position.

“You know what? You’ve been prim and prudish since our first actual date and then… _he_ … happened. And I get it, I was relapsing and you were giving me time to heal. You haven’t been doing much better, I know. But you can’t pull what you have been and then flip a switch and expect me to keep up. I don’t care if its man or wolf driving this thing, you guys don’t get to pull a Jekyll and Hyde deal on me. Got it?”

His smile grew, losing its shaper tones as he turned his head and kissed her palm. “Good for the goose is good for the gander Emma. We remain constant as you do; we enjoy the fight you have in you and don’t like seeing you play submissive to us.”

She looked to his eyes then, the blue reclaiming the white slowly. “You were _trying_ to piss me off?”

He laughed again. “Only to rekindle the fire, not to cause concern. Cowering doesn’t suit you, and it worries us that we’ve become the cause of it.”

 _Oh he’s paying for that…_ “So you _aren’t_ interested in me like you were just implying?”

The white flashed a return to his eyes, “Hardly.”

Emma raised her brows at the word, not sure on its meaning. Before she could ask what Killian –or Zuul– meant by it, his lips were on her own. Both of them breathing deep –her from shock, him from need. He pressed firmly against her mouth, using the pressure to guide her movements along with his. A low rumble sounded from somewhere in him as he leaned her back, his hands leaving the table to grip tight at her waist. She was nearly laying down again, her hands grasping at his shoulders and leg lifting to wrap around his hip for balance. His mouth was greedy, but moved in stuttered kisses; lingering in single spots before quickly moving to a new position. Hands slid up her sides, fingers pressing at her rib cage as thumbs traced the underside of her breasts. A shiver ran through her, gravity seeming to tilt just a little to the right; Killian growled and moved to her jaw, nipping his way to her ear.

“Stay with me Emma.” Later, she would know he hadn’t meant to do it, but the heaviness of his dominance pushed out into the room. His plea for her translated to a command, “Stay…”

Her anxiety was suppressed, sinking behind a fog of growing need. His hands slid back down to her waist, tugging her body to lay flat on the table and all that much closer to his hips. His mouth unable to stay in a single area, roaming along the column of her neck back to her mouth. Her leg rose higher against his side, allowing him to press to her.

“I hardly want you as I implied Emma.” Her breath hitched with a roll of his hips. “It’s more…” His hand grabbed her thigh as it squeezed his side. “Always more…”

He mouthed at her collarbone, her hand left his shoulder to fist at his hair. “Kilian?”

“Aye love. Killian… your Killian…”

Emma whimpered low in her throat, teetering between the fear she couldn’t escape and the escape Killian was offering. His mouth moved to the swell of her still clothed breast. The fabric thin for the warm weather, giving only a scrape of dry friction instead of protection.

Emma gripped his hair harder, groaning. “Killian… I…”

Another growl came, sounding angrier than before. He returned his hands to her waist, pushing away as much as her grip would allow. “Aye.” His hands flexed against her skin, his breath ragged. “Aye love. Just give me–“

Emma pulled him back down, stealing nips to his chin between kissing him silent. It was addicting, not feeling scared or dizzy while kissing him. Well… she was dizzy all right, just in a way she hadn’t been in a good long while. She could finally enjoy it, _really_ enjoy it. And damn him for being good at it. It wasn’t as if kissing him was new, but he’d always held a bit back to keep things sweeter and kinder. This was a frantic side she hadn’t seen since his apartment so, so long ago.

“Mmmm… Emma… wait…”

Damn him further for trying to slow things back down.

“You said more?”

Killian groaned. “Emma you need–“

“I _need_ more right now Killian.” She rolled up into him, gaining her another rumble from deep within him.

He grabbed her hands from the places they had latched on to, unlocking them from himself and kissing her knuckles. His grip slid to her wrists, slowly pinning her arms to her side, letting her have time to change her mind. He kissed her once more, letting her feel the weight of him above her, the restriction of movement. She couldn’t help but think of Walsh for a moment, hate him for stealing this from her. But the panic didn’t come, it didn’t even tease an appearance. Walsh hadn’t bound her hands, not once, not until the final day. Nor had he laid down with her to initiate anything sexual face to face. This was something she could have that was Killian’s. Her heart thudded hard, realizing that there was something partially untainted that she could still have with him.

But Killian eased off, likely assuming the rapid pounding under him was another attack coming on. “Emma…” He sounded as if he was in pain. “Emma we should stop.”

Her locked leg –which had yet to leave his hip– tightened. “The hell we should. I’m here, I’m ok right now.”

“And later? If you have a set back?”

“Killian Ardál Jones, if you stop now, you’ll be setting _us_ back.” She didn’t wait for him to catch up, pulling him down to kiss again. Something open and dirty and not something she’d been capable of until now.

She felt it when his resolve cracked; a man deaf, dumb, and blind could have pointed it out. But for Emma it was the roll of his hips to hers, the digging of something solid against something soft. It was strength in his hands when they gripped her wrists tighter. His mouth took to the swells of her breasts once more, letting his hands travel down the length of her arms. He avoided outright groping her, even when she arched her back in encouragement. Instead he took them further down to the waistband of her leggings, slipping his fingertips just under her shirt, tentatively touching the skin he found.

Emma whimpered. “Killian… please…”

He tugged at the waistband, “Do you trust me Emma?”

“Yes.” She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

“Promise me you’ll stop me if you become overwhelmed.”

“Yes.” Frankly she was willing to agree to nearly anything to chase this to its natural end.

He rutted hard against her, forcing a keening sound from within her. He pulled away, pushing against her again and again until she looked up to him. “ _Promise_ me Emma Swan.”

“Yes! I’ll stop if I have to.”

He licked his lips, “Well then…”

He rucked up her shirt, flicking glances to her as he lowered his mouth to the soft skin of her belly. Slow, reverent kisses crossed her middle from one side to the other, with a slight slip of his tongue dipping into her navel. He moved her legs to cradle on his shoulders before reaching up to clasp her hands. He moved up, bending her in half, pushing the air from her lungs in a pitiful moan. His mouth brushed against her sternum breathing warmth to her skin. He avoided the heaviness of her breasts and the tight peaks her nipples made, taking the same sweet kisses down the center line of her stomach. He stopped at her bikini line, inching her leggings down just enough to pursue another horizontal journey between each hip. She tried rolling her body to urge him on when he returned to the middle of her, but he inched her leggings and underwear down more and veered left along the crease of her thigh, nipping with teeth and soothing with another kiss. Down and up to his designated starting point before denying her again to proceed down the right side.

She felt restless; her hands grabbing at his before releasing and trying to wriggle free just to grab him again. She wanted him to stop teasing her, to answer the clenching he had to have known was happening already. She felt slick and eager, her bones felt ready to burst from her skin. And he was taking his sweet freaking time.

It was as she was beginning to shout out her frustration when he all but ripped her leggings and panties off, immediately attaching his mouth to the top of her slit, clamping down and sucking hard, licking where his tongue could reach. Her brain worried over sight and scent, if it passed inspection and all those ridiculous, unwanted thoughts to have when she was finally getting laid. Seemingly aware of her distraction from his attentions, Killian growled and nipped at her flesh to bring her back to him. Her hands struggled in his, wanting to fly to his hair and her own face. But he held her, still asking her to stay with him. His mouth broke contact, taking the same slow kisses down to her entrance. Her hips bucked when his tongue teased the opening, and squirmed to each lazy swipe at the wetness she was creating. Again she worried, this time at the amount she was making, if it was too much; remembering another man and his turned down mouth. Killian growled into her without a pause or stutter in his attentions; his tongue diving deep inside her for more of her taste. When he licked a firm stripe up the center, Emma managed to wrangle her hand away to grab at his hair, earning a moan from him as she tugged the strands.

Her mistake.

It allowed him an available hand, which he promptly put to use caressing her inner folds steadily; up and down as he focused his mouth now at the apex of her cunt, sucking and nibbling his way to her oblivion. She pouted a whimper when his hand stopped petting, rotating palm up so he could tracing the opening with his middle finger. Teasing a dip to his first knuckle in time with that insidious mouth sending her further and farther into her high. She knew she was begging out loud by now, she could feel her mouth moving, feel the vibrations in her throat as the vocal cords made sounds for her. But the buzzing in her chest drowned it out, insisting she feel what he was doing to her.

His finger slid as deep as it could. Curving and prodding rhythmically in tandem with his mouth; a relentless assault to the top of her sex.

Her legs tingled with no blood. His teeth bit the flesh above her nub.

Her grip tightened in his hair, her fingers twisting in his. Needing an anchor lest she drown in her own bliss.

Her back arched, her hips thrusting with his hand.

He breathed her name into her.

Her orgasm ripped through her system; the first in over a year that wasn’t self-induced or run on batteries.

Her head swam, lost and floating; Emma only vaguely aware of her hand slipping gracelessly from Killian’s head with a thunk to the table beneath her. She breathed hard, struggling to hold onto the various thoughts passing through her brain, managing nothing. Her legs were gently moved to a lowered position, there were hands rubbing the muscles of her thighs. Warmth hit her everywhere, spinning behind her eyes with each throb of her core. Her name was being called, Killian was trying for her attention, but all she could manage was a contented hum; though it could possibly have been a grunt, Emma wasn’t paying too much attention to it. Arms slipped under her knees and shoulders, lifting her with a familiar ease. She let her head loll to his warm shoulder, hearing a strong and rapid beat under her ear. Soon there was the softness of a bed under her, and a kiss upon her forehead. Murmured words came and went, and then nothing. Silence pulled her deeper, allowing sleep to snake its way into her body.

She was barely aware of the bed dipping some fifteen minutes later and of the heavy, furry warmth that took up the rest of the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Super Blood Wolf Moon everyone
> 
> My deepest apologies for the naughty. I know its not up to par with other writers, but you can always skip it.

**Author's Note:**

> All right folks. Here's the deal. There will be no posting schedule. Y'all are looking at months between chapters. NO amount of screaming will get more. Neither will the crickets I'm expecting.


End file.
